iHunt the Beavecoon
by coffee-stained lips
Summary: Spencer takes the kids out to hunt the beavecoon. Sam and Freddie get closer than they'd like, while Carly finds herself in the middle of an awkward and different love triangle.
1. RV Rides

**I've been waiting to try out a new Seddie. I hope you all enjoy this one. The song used is Uncle Kracker's _Smile_. I spent maybe five minutes picking a nice song out, but eventually decided on that one after seeing a _totally great_ Seddie video by ColoursoftheDawn on YouTube. She/he is really coolm, and I'm a big fan, and you should check her/his videos out, and I should shut up so you can read!**

Freddie Benson rolled his eyes for perhaps the millionth time as his mother continued to nag him about the supplies within his duffel bag. The weight was painful enough on his shoulders without Mrs. Benson zipping and unzipping it, digging to find if he had packed everything. Searching through his duffel bag with one hand, she occupied the other by pulling a first aid kit the size of your average fifth-grader. Freddie wasn't sure how she'd cope with him being gone for about two weeks in the forest.

Ever since the incident with Bigfoot a month ago, Spencer had been convinced he heard the mating call of the "beavecoon", as he called it: a creature with the head of a beaver and the body of a raccoon. Freddie, along with Sam and Carly, thought such a critter was ludicrous and nonexistent. But Spencer was confident in the existence of this animal and determined to find one. Which is why Freddie was crossing the hall to Carly's apartment right now: Spencer had planned a hunting expedition, and he wanted Carly, Freddie, and Sam to come as help.

"Do you have your rainjacket?" Mrs. Benson asked in a hoarse, worried voice, "And your bug spray? And sun block? Sun block…oh my gosh, I forgot cloud block!" With a rush of wind Freddie's frantic mom was back in their apartment, tearing the place up for a bottle of cloud block. Freddie took this rare chance to hurry inside the apartment across the hall, and lock it tight.

Sam Puckett rested on the sofa, sulkily chewing her burrito, while waiting for the Shays to arrive from upstairs. Her own duffel bag rested by her, packed by Carly (Sam was never one to work). Carly was making sure she had all her toiletries and makeup and Spencer was gathering his "beavecoon hunting supplies", whatever _that_ included.

Once she saw the boy—or nub, in her opinion—she crinkled her nose in slight repugnance. She watched Freddie as he quickly slammed the apartment door shut and locked it, his hands shaking as he attempted to be swift. After the locks were secure he breathed out in relief and turned to face the room. Upon spotting her he jumped; obviously he had not expected her to be there earlier than him. His face scrunched in dislike for the girl, and she showed her equal abhorrence by sneering fully at him.

"Where's your spaz mom, Benson?" she asked, chewed-up burrito showing her tongue. Freddie, nauseated with her lack of good manners, replied, "One, she's not a spaz—"

"That's a matter of opinion." Sam interjected, smirking. Freddie leered at her.

"_Two_, getting cloud block." He deposited his camouflage duffel bag beside hers with a _flump_ and jogged to the counter, where a delectable-looking bowl of cashews sat. He picked up a few and popped them in his mouth, savoring the saltiness. As he reached in for another handful, a loud bonking noise sounded. Confused, Freddie dropped the nuts back in the bowl and hurried to the bottom of the staircase. Sam, equally as befuddled, joined him. Before them appeared Carly, and behind her was the source of the bonking: two large pink suitcases, seeming to be filled with more than was necessary for this camping trip. Upon her face were sunglasses so round and big they made her look like an odd bug, and her skin was white, the result of a hefty amount of sunscreen. Once seeing her friend, Sam started to laugh.

"Carls, we're going to a campsite," she said, "not a beach." Carly giggled, taking the insect-eye glasses off.

"I know," she said, "but I feel safer this way."

"Yeah, them woods are real dangerous!" responded Sam with sarcasm, faking claw motions. Freddie found this funny but he decided against laughing. He thought Carly was positively radiant and worthy of Malibu beauty, even if they were just trudging into the deep forests of Washington.

"I think you're pretty, Carly." he said, gazing at her with a boyish smile. Carly nodded in a friendly way, silently telling him not to flirt. He understood and backed off, but Sam had to scoff and roll her baby-blues.

"Give it up, nub." she said as Carly put her bags with theirs, "She's never gonna love you!" _Not the old "She's never gonna love you" thing again, _Freddie thought. Sam was constantly riding him about his crush on Carly; he knew it was a little impossible that she'd ever feel mutual but he couldn't just snap his fingers and be over her. Besides, she was the only girl he'd met worth crushing over—who else could there be for him?

There was a strained grunt from next to the teenagers, and they turned to see the noise was from Spencer's mouth.

"Oh, no…" Carly sighed once seeing her brother's outfit. He was decked out in a camouflage suit: his pants were puffy and held multiple green colors. He wore a shirt with a grizzly bear on it, baring its teeth on his chest. On his head was a fishing hat with bait dangling from it. He wore a close-to-skin-colored vest that made his torso look bulkier than it was. In his hand was a tarnished blue duffel bag and in the other was what looked like heavy camera equipment: there was a tripod and a colossal-seeming camcorder. He was having a struggle with them; they wanted to leave his grasp, and he was having a workout trying to keep them from falling to the floor. He looked like Freddie's duffel bag, plus Freddie's tech stuff, which is most likely was.

Sam stepped forward and looked back and forth between the brother and sister Shays. "What is up with this family and jank outfits?" she asked. Carly laughed and Spencer was too cheery to be insulted. Bounding down the steps, he flung himself at the coat rack and tried, unsuccessfully, to grab his jacket without putting anything down. After eventually releasing everything, he sighed sadly and put his jacket on.

"Come on, kiddos!" he yelled as he collected his stuff, "Time's a-wastin'!"

"What, will the beavecoon not wait up for us?" Sam kidded as she picked her duffel bag up in one quick motion. Spencer's face, however, was deadly serious.

"You never know." he whispered ominously, his tone one horror movie narrators would be envious of. Then he was tugging the door open. He almost hit Mrs. Benson; there she stood, a large tub of cloud block in her waiting hands.

"This is for Freddie!" she said loudly, pushing past the man and to her son, whose face had grown red. Carly tried to keep her snickers to a minimum, whereas Sam was allowing herself to laugh very noisily. Mrs. Benson squirted some of the white goop in her hand and slapped it on Freddie's face sloppily, turning him the same shade of white as Carly.

"Mmm!" Freddie moaned, attempting to say "Mom" but his mother's hand muffled his mouth. He practically had to wrench her hands off him, and they dribbled snowy-white goo on the Shays' carpeting.

"Mom!" Freddie hissed, wiping his face with his sleeve, "Stop that! I thought you said you wouldn't treat me like a baby anymore!"

"Is that in writing?" his mom asked, eyebrows raised. Freddie let out a strangled sigh and picked his duffel bag up, Sam sniggering next to him. He glared at her.

"Here, Freddio." she said, shoving her duffel bag unexpectedly into Freddie's arms. He almost toppled over with the increased weight, but held firm. She smirked at his grimace.

As they gathered their things (Freddie reluctantly carrying Sam's luggage), Mrs. Benson was rattling off a list of allergies Freddie had to Spencer, fifty percent of them probably not true. Spencer was edging closer to the door as she talked, agitated he was losing valuable time.

"Now then, I think I have some extra underpants in here somewhere…" she said, rooting through her black hole of a purse. Spencer dashed out the door the minute her eyes removed themselves from him, and the trio of kids followed.

They ran all the way down the hallway, down the steps, and out the front door, Lewbert shrieking at them the very second they appeared. They searched the parking lot for Spencer's rented RV and found, strangely, Gibby there with his own bags.

"Hey, what up, Gib?" Sam asked as Spencer took no notice of the pudgy boy and entered the RV.

"I'm coming with you to catch the beavecoon!" he said excitedly, shining delight lighting his baby fat-filled face, "It's my dream…next to being one of Justin Bieber's backup dancers." The kids nodded, unperturbed by their buddy's odd aspirations. Once you got to know Gibby, he wasn't that weird…okay, yes he was, but you tolerated it.

The foursome got on the RV, put their duffel bags in each of the two bedrooms, and went into the main room. Spencer was bouncing in the driver's seat, looking like a child about to experience Christmas. His mouth, filled with bright white teeth, was in a huge grin. "Everyone on?" he shouted unnecessarily. Everyone cheered in unison and he put his foot on the gas, and they were off to hunt the beavecoon.

'~**~'

"_One hundred bottles of beer on the wall, one hundred bottles of beer_!" Sam sang. Freddie gasped in shock.

"Sam!" he yelled, aghast, "Inappropriate!" They all had been stuck in the RV for a good two hours and the excitement was wearing down and boredom was setting in. Sam's stomach was howling but the only food Spencer had available right then were Poptarts and stale butterscotch cookies, neither of which Sam liked. She started singing car songs to distract herself until they could unpack the cooler, and that's where they were now.

Sam rolled her eyes at him. "Fredweird, you're such a priss." she said, earning a scowl from the Benson boy. He rebuked her behavior and name-calling, and the two launched into another useless argument. Carly gave an annoyed sigh as a signal of her aggravation with them, but they didn't hear it, or ignored it.

"Okay, why don't I say 'one hundred pairs of Freddie's antibacterial underwear on the walls, one hundred pairs of Freddie's antibacterial underwear'?" Sam asked sarcastically.

"Why do you always have to bring _that_ up? !" Freddie yelled at her, "Besides, I stopped wearing them a year ago!"

"Ew!" Sam mocked, "Freddie's being bacterial!"

"Stop that!" Freddie shouted, a pink shade overwhelming his cheeks. Sam was about to give another insult when Carly shouted for them both to shut up. The two instantly quieted, but they kept glaring at each other. _Why can't they get along?_ Carly thought, shaking her head.

She looked over to Gibby so she wouldn't have to be a part of the soon-to-be bicker: he was trying hard to chew on one of the cookies, his chubby face crumpled in determination. Carly giggled at the sight of him—it was actually a little…cute. The minute this crossed her mind she mentally kicked herself. _No way do you think Gibby's cute!_ she told herself. After awhile of surprise, she looked back at Gibby. Still his teeth were attempting to bite down on the stale cookie, and Carly couldn't take it—he'd surely break his teeth if he tried any harder. She walked to the cabinet and pulled out a box of chocolate fudge Poptarts, yanked one out, and gave it to him. He dropped the cookie and looked incredulously at the Poptart in his hand; eventually he shrugged, ripped the wrapper off, and bit down hungrily. His face lit up and he took another large bite.

"Thanks," he said, his voice muffled by the chocolate. Carly laughed and took her own Poptart to eat with Gibby. There was no toaster in the RV, or a microwave, but raw was good enough for her.

Though Carly and Gibby were subdued, Sam and Freddie were getting ready to argue again, like usual. They had been giving each other heavy glowers, but now it was time again for words to speak their dislike.

"So I can't sing, is that right?" Sam growled, and Freddie looked away. "Well, what do you find 'appropriate'?" She moved her fingers like sarcastic quotations, making Freddie look back at her.

"I don't know…" he said, "Just nothing with alcohol."

"Yup, you're a priss." Sam said with a smirk.

"Didn't you bring a PearPod or something?" Freddie asked. Sam's face lit up like she remembered something; she stood and ran to the bedroom where her bag, and most likely PearPod, was. Freddie stood also and snatched a Poptart by Gibby and Carly. He was telling her a story that included his baby brother and a packet of ketchup, Carly laughing the whole time. Freddie never heard Carly laugh that way for him when he told a story—of course, he wasn't funny; his cousin proved _that_ much—but for Gibby she was very enthusiastic to listen. _Maybe…?_ Freddie mused, _Nah, Carly like _Gibby_? I'll like Sam before that happens._ Speaking of Sam, she was in the room again, her PearPod in her hand, earphones in ears. Loud music blasted from it and Freddie wondered how her eardrums were not ruptured by now.

"Turn it down, will you?" he asked in a loud voice.

"Why, too loud?" Sam yelled, and the noise suddenly increased. Freddie covered his ears to block the unwanted music out. Sam laughed and turned it down. Freddie, after the blood in his head had stopped pumping, became curious over what song was on Sam's PearPod. He wanted to ask her what it was, but didn't have to, for she began singing subconsciously.

"_You make me dance like a fool, forget how to breathe…_" she sang in a soft falsetto, "_Shine like gold, buzz like a bee…_" _She's good, _Freddie thought, then changed his mind, _F__or Sam._ He would've complimented her, but it would surely be twisted around into another argument.

"_Just the thought of you can drive me wild…_" Carly began singing along also. Gibby joined in too, kind of ruining the nice sound, but no one cared. Freddie thought the harmony was good, even if Gibby sounded similar to a dying cow. Freddie couldn't help but join in on the fun too.

"_Even when you're gone…_" he started. Carly stopped and cheered for him accompanying, as did Gibby. He smiled at their approval. "_Somehow you come along just like_—"

"_A flower poking through the sidewalk crack…_" Sam sang. They were the only two singing now. Her voice was oddly soft and sweet and his was deep and strong; so unlike their speaking voices. Sam was a bit taken aback by the good singing voice Freddie had; she almost awarded him with a compliment but since when did she compliment a nub?

"_And just like that,_" they continued, "_you steal away the rain away and just like that…you make me smile like the sun! Fall out of bed! Sing like a bird! Dizzy in my head_!" All the while they were, ironically, smiling hugely at each other, something they didn't do often.

"_Spin like a record!_" Spencer interrupted, his voice even more putrid than Gibby's. The others stopped and cupped their palms over their ears, begging him to stop. He did, looking sour, and murmured "Everybody's a critic." They laughed at him but he kept his dour mood and refused to speak. Carly grabbed another box of Poptarts—s'mores this time—and tossed one to Gibby. Happily, he chomped down.

"Oh, and guess what Guppy did when he got hold of the _mustard_!" Gibby said, looking excited once more. Carly eagerly listened, rapt on Gibby's words. As he told the odd tale his eyes sparkled, and Carly felt a flutter in her chest. _I don't like Gibby!_ she thought, _Freddie will like _Sam_ before that happens._

"You're a nice singer, Puckett." Freddie said to Sam as she scrolled to another song. She smirked up at him, a noticeable twinkle within her eyes.

"Thanks, Benson." she responded as Freddie heard another song beating, "You ain't _too_ bad." Freddie rolled his eyes, expecting that from her, but felt nice all the same. Sam's compliments—even if an insult was there too—were always treasured by Freddie, someone who rarely saw them.

The RV bounced as it hit a bump, and there was a choking sound. The two turned to see the impact had caused Gibby's entire Poptart to be jammed in his mouth unexpectedly, a sight that made them all laugh again. As Gibby extracted the chocolaty snack, Spencer pressed down hard on the break. He turned to face them, his face no longer sullen but thrilled again, and said in a low whisper "We are here."

**Like? Don't like? I bet half of you are excited for the Cibby and the other are all like "What the heck? Freak!" Well, Carly deserves someone, unless you want her with Freddie...**

***Screams of agony***

**That's what I thought. So just try out Cibby; maybe you'll like it! ****Review, dudes and dudettes!**


	2. Awkward Chores

The trees seemed to close in around them; their vast height made them appear like arms stretching out of the ground, and their branches were fingers clawing the darkening sky as twilight settled. There was an abundance of purple flowers by one tree, making it look much prettier than the others that were covered with dead grass. It was the same place they'd made camp at when they were looking for Bigfoot.

Spencer ran to get his equipment, so the rest of them stepped outside. There was a patch of dirt with some burnt marks on them. Surely a place to light your fires. Freddie knelt down and grazed his hands along the ground: it felt fresh, like the last person on this spot had left that day.

"We should collect firewood," he said, standing, "before nightfall." He wasn't going to admit it, but being out in the dark gave him the heebie-jeebies. And being in the woods didn't help that fear. Just imagining the things lurking about within the trees sent shivers up his spine.

"Not me!" Sam called, going for the RV but Carly grabbed hold of her arm. She swung her back around, and Sam was grimacing. She didn't like work of any kind unless it involved squishing a fork in food and lifting it up to her mouth—and even that exhausted her occasionally.

"Yes you." Carly said, releasing the blonde, "Well, you'll have to do _some_thing—there's a lot of work in camping." At this Sam moaned in a childish way, scrunching her eyes shut as if in pain. She leaned against the RV, crossing her arms, stubborn.

Spencer came out that moment, lugging his beavecoon-catching equipment. His eyes sparkled with delight as he dropped it all onto the ground and began sorting it out. "Can some of you help me set this up?" he asked. Sam attempted to sneak back into the RV again, but Carly predicted this action, and grabbed her before she could.

"Your pick, Sam," she said, "Beavecoon or firewood." Sam was planning to say "beavecoon"; she'd be close to the RV (and more importantly the food) and if she got lazy, she could just walk the short distance to the camp. But as she watched Spencer and his odd contraptions, she began to doubt it was a good choice. Still, the idea of darkness in the forest painted a grim picture…but she wouldn't be alone. If she took Freddie, the bears could maul him first—problem solved.

"I'll get the wood." she groaned. Carly smiled and nodded, patting her friend on the head. Sam glowered at her, and she steadily took her hand away.

"Gibby and I'll help you, Spencer." she said to her bro, but he wasn't listening; he was trying to figure how the stuff worked, making Freddie nervous.

"C'mon, Freddork, let's get this over with." Sam said, taking Freddie's hand and dragging him off. He stared after his equipment. _My babies…_ he thought pitifully, _Oh, I'm glad Sam didn't hear that._ The mismatched pair walked into the trees in search of firewood. Neither liked being stuck with the other—they weren't very…compatible—and a fight was sure to break out sooner or later. They kept in silence for awhile, their eyes scoping out the forest floor. Nothing but measly twigs and bushes appeared, disheartening Freddie the most. He was glancing over his shoulder a lot, worried some hungry animal would come out of the brush.

"Afraid of the vampires?" Sam teased. Freddie blushed and pretended he was simply brushing something off his shoulder but Sam was not easily fooled.

"Nah." he said, stealing a peek behind him again, "Besides there are no such things as vampires!"

"I don't know…" Sam said, innocently clasping her hands behind her back and rocking on the soles of her feet like a little girl, "They _sure_ like Washington…" An unnecessary chill crept up Freddie's spinal cord. He knew she was just trying to rile him up, but he couldn't help but feel creeped out by the tone of her voice.

"Oh, just get wood." he snapped, turning away so as not to grow more scared. He heard a snicker from the blonde, but ignored it and kept his eye out for logs.

"Or maybe the Dementors'll get you!" she said.

"Stop that!" Freddie cried, his voice cracking. Her words of _Twilight_ and _Harry Potter_ things kept frightening him but he refused to show it; rather he pretended to be angry. She may get Ds, but Sam's smart enough to tell when he was lying.

"You read too much, like, seriously." she said, kicking a rock, "You get scared too easily."

"Ah, shut up." Freddie mumbled, turning cross. Sam sniggered at him, and the two returned to acting quiet.

The sky had already started to become night. Both teenagers became agitated that neither brought a flashlight. In awhile, darkness would cover the forest and they'd be in trouble.

Freddie kept his vision hawk-like: he searched every single last nook and cranny for a sign of wood big enough to burn. Every once in awhile he spotted a nice good log and he picked it up quickly. Soon he had about five logs. He struggled to hold them—they cut the skin on his hand and splinters injected themselves into his palm, causing sharp pains every time he flexed his hands, which happened a lot. He whimpered as another piece of wood sliced through his skin.

"You okay, Freddison?" Sam asked, looking genuinely worried. He nodded, biting down hard on his lip.

"F-fine…" he stuttered, trying hard not to move his hands. Sam stared at him as he attempted to pick up another log from next to a bush: he let out a moan as the wood cut deep into his flesh, and he closed his eyes shut tightly.

She stepped forward immediately and stretched her arms out. He stared at her in confusion, frozen in place.

"What?" he asked, cautiously looking over her hands. She sighed angrily—was he _really_ this stupid?

"Give me the firewood, Benson." She said, "You can't do it." Freddie took this as an insult—who could blame him?—and refused to hand the wood over.

"I—can—do—it." he grunted, lifting them up over his shoulder. He winced as the wood cut into his ear. _Man, that's some sharp wood, _Sam thought. She, however, being stubborn, reached out and yanked the logs out of Freddie's grasp. He tried to get it back, and they ended up in a tug-o-war for the firewood. The only problem was Sam was stronger so Freddie would end up hurt…again.

And so, Sam, growing angry, attempted to move her hands to get a better grip. But instead she ended up letting go and Freddie, surprised, didn't have time to move before the block of wood smacked his face hard. He cried out and dropped the log, clutching his nose, and stumbled. The splinters were in his cheeks and blood was pouring from his nose. He put pressure on the hurting spot but that caused him to not notice he was walking closer to a rosebush. At least, until he fell in and a thousand thorns pierced his back.

'~**~'

Gibby wiped the sweat from his brow as he picked up the camcorder. Spencer eagerly reached out to grab it from up the tree and Gibby gladly handed over the heavy equipment.

He and Carly watched as Spencer wrapped a rope tight around the camera. It dangled a few feet above the ground (the rope was a bit long) and Spencer was trying to get it to stay up higher. Carly and Gibby were aiming to plant another camera in a tree a bit farther away. Carly had changed into shorts that reached above her knees and a white tank top that she was okay with getting dirty. Gibby kept staring at her, thinking about how beautiful she looked. But he tried to shake this feeling away; he knew a guy like him wouldn't stand a chance with a girl like her. Besides he didn't even like her like that…no, he didn't…

Carly put her foot against the tree trunk and reached for a branch but ended up falling. Groaning, she stood and tried jumping up to grab the branch but still it remained out of reach. She sighed in frustration. She saw Gibby looking up at the tree and she pondered if he could lift her. _He looks strong enough, _she thought, absentmindedly staring at his arms, which held no visible muscle.

"Hey, Gibby, can you give me a hand?" she said. He looked back at her and reddened.

"S-Sure…" he said, "What do you mean?"

"I mean lift me up so I can grab that branch." Carly replied, pointing at the nearest limb of the oak. Gibby shrugged and knelt at her feet. She carefully stepped onto his shoulders. He let out an "Oomph!", showing the heaviness of the girl.

"Oh, Gibby, you don't have to do this if it's too tough!" Carly said, halfway stepping down. Gibby felt sad at the fact she knew he wasn't strong enough, but he wanted to prove her wrong—or, more desirably, impress her—and said "Nah, it was just a five-second thing. I can carry you." Carly raised a skeptical eyebrow, not fully believing him.

"Well…alright, you sure?" she asked, moving nearer to him. He nodded vigorously and got into a racer position, wanting her to get on. She shrugged mentally and hopped atop Gibby's back. He let out another strained breath but ignored it best he could. He stood, holding Carly's ankles so she didn't fall, and moved closer to the tree. She outstretched her hands and grabbed the closet branch, pulling herself up with much strength. She groaned and gritted her teeth, trying to get off Gibby's shoulders. She tried many times but just couldn't get it. _Pretend it's gym class, _she told herself, _and that this is the pull-up bar._ She imagined being in Ridgeway's gymnasium, about to get up on the bar. She gripped the branch tighter and yanked upward, but to no avail.

_Oh, I forgot that I _suck_ at gym class!_ Carly thought angrily. She looked down to see Gibby was shaking under her weight. Now, she wasn't pudgy—she was getting curvier everyday—but over one-hundred pounds of girl was a lot for a Gibby to handle.

"Give me a push!" she yelled, hoping she wasn't hurting him too much. He let out a whimper. _Be a man, Gibby!_ he thought. With all his strength he stood upon his tiptoes, heaving his shoulders up. Carly was close enough now, and she pulled up onto the branch. She told Gibby to let go and he did gratefully.

The branch was wobbly at first but Carly quickly got the hang of it. She kept on her knees and the palms of her hands. She looked around and realized for the first time just how high she was. The many trees around her seemed so big and so near; she felt she could hop from treetop to treetop—almost like a sidewalk. The only difference being if she fell she wouldn't receive a scrape—instead she would break her neck and die. Big difference.

Swallowing her newfound fear, she gazed down at Gibby, who was watching her intently. She said "Send the rope up!" He nodded and bent down to grab the sturdy rope by the pile of supplies. He twisted it like a lasso and threw it up to her.

An ingenious idea had popped into Carly's head. She was unsure of whether or not she should do it but—staring at the ground below that seemed so dangerous—finally decided yes. She tied the rope around her waist. When she knotted it, it pushed some air out of her, making her dizzy for a moment. She loosened it ever so slightly, and then threw it above a higher branch. She gulped and unsteadily stood. Gibby instantly became alert and he put his arms out to catch the Shay girl should she fall. A delicate person such as her couldn't get hurt; Gibby knew that.

She securely tied the rope around the branch above her. _There._ she thought proudly, _If I fall I won't get hurt now._ She then got back onto her knees, feeling safer, and told Gibby to send another rope up for the camera. He was a bit confused why she needed two ropes (for Spencer used only one) but did as he was told. He did the same action for the first one, and she happily knotted the rope round the camcorder. After being one-hundred percent sure the camera wouldn't escape the rope's grasp, she lowered it to the ground. Then she tied it around the branch she was on, after making sure it was just right—no person or "beavecoon" could spot it now.

"Awesome." she whispered, then louder, "Okay, Gibby, I'm ready to get down now." She slowly descended the tree when she lost her footing.

She tumbled downward, shrieking girlishly. Was this the end for her? No! She had the rope tied up there! But…would it hold…?

Gibby, upon hearing her screams, rushed to the spot where she was falling down. _Oh man!_ he thought, _What do I do?_ He instinctively put his arms out again, ready to catch her. She got closer and closer…

With a small _boing_ Carly was no longer falling. She was instead hanging upside down by her waist, and it was _not_ comfortable. Gibby was immensely relieved to see she was not hurt.

"Uh, Gibby?" Carly asked timidly, the blood already rushing to her head.

"Yeah?" Gibby replied.

"Untie me!" Carly shouted, for the rope was digging into her belly. Gibby nodded and reached his hands around her waist to untie her. It felt…_awkward_…to be holding Carly almost in a hug, an embrace—except she was upside down and irritated.

After getting her down, she landed halfway in his arms. He steadied her quickly, wanting the awkwardness gone. She smiled at him, having felt the awkwardness too, and shifted uncomfortably.

"Um, thanks." she said.

"No prob." he said. The two stood in silence. _He's so much stronger than he looks…_ Carly thought admiringly, _Oh, shut it, Shay! You have _no_ feelings toward Gibby!_ But he _was_ strong…very masculine-like strong, though it didn't show…

The awkwardness of the situation diminished completely when the teens heard a moaning and yelling from nearby. Carly immediately thought it a bear and jumped behind Gibby. But the noise came from no bear—not even close. Out of the thicket came two teenagers much like Gibby and Carly. One was a boy, who was moaning and walking oddly with logs in his hands; the other a girl, holding the boy at a weird angle, as if to keep him from falling. The teens were none other than Sam and Freddie, returning to camp. And it seemed as though they had an interesting adventure.

After Freddie had fallen into the rosebush, pain had stabbed him like a fiery trident. Hundreds of thorns dug into the flesh of his bare body, poking cuts into him, making blood squirt out. It didn't help he was prone to excessive bleeding. He wailed like a dying animal and Sam came to his aid.

"What, Freducation?" she had asked, keeping her usual Sam-ness, but still showing compassion. Freddie pushed his lips together and whined like a dog; he didn't want Sam to see him in pain or know he was in it. He wanted to prove he was strong, was a man—but, boy, those thorns _hurt_!

He tried to stand but the pain was strong; he toppled backwards. Sam reached out and caught him, lifting him into a standing position. She turned the boy around and saw several thorns poking outward from his back. She winced at the sight—no wonder he was whimpering like a dying animal.

Sam touched the heinous thorns, and Freddie cringed. She decided she'd just have to yank them out, one by one. She put her fingers around one and pulled. A droplet of blood was visible on it and on his back. Freddie uttered an "Ow!" but Sam just pulled more out. Blood-red drops trickled from the thorns but Sam kept yanking them out of his backside, not bothering to take note it hurt him to no end.

After the last thorn was out, Freddie turned round. His face was pale and scrapes from the wood were evident on his face. He wasn't very comfortable and he wasn't very cheery. Sam smirked and raised her hands up innocently. "Better?" was what she asked. Freddie sighed, rubbing his aching back.

"Is it bad?" he asked, lifting his shirt up and turning round again. Cuts were many on his back and it was smeared red. It wasn't a huge blood loss but Freddie, being prone to excessive bleeding, should've been at the camp, resting.

"Not that good, Fredlumps." Sam said and he groaned. "But we'll just get you to camp and was you up."

"Good." Freddie said. He picked the wood up, mumbling his discomfort, and then moved forward but the pain shot through again, and he wobbled. Sam took hold of his shoulders and walked him forward slowly. She being stronger and holding him helped Freddie and they walked that way back to the campsite. However, to Freddie it was awkward having Sam help him by holding onto him and he wanted nothing more than the feeling of her closeness to go away. But he also enjoyed it.

Sam felt the same. The nearness of the two discomforted her, but she was also enjoying being so close to Freddie. His warmth was comfortable out in the dark woods but she'd never let on.

Soon they saw Gibby and Carly, and they happily picked up their pace. The others greeted them with waves and they waved back, moving near the fire pit. Freddie dropped the logs down and sat on the grassy ground, grateful to rest. Sam still held his shoulders as he descended, but hastily retracted them when she noticed. Gibby and Carly walked up to the two.

"Thank goodness all that work's done." Carly sighed happily, and everyone agreed. Suddenly there was a yell and a loud impact. The four teens looked to the source and saw Spencer crawling off his back.

"I fell out of the tree!" he announced. They laughed, for Spencer was okay, and Carly went to get her brother back on his feet so they could make s'mores.

**Sorry about how long it was! I might publish another Seddie during this because, even though Cibby is cool, I want one that's fully Seddie! But in the meantime, what did you think of this?**


	3. Nightmares of Several Sorts

The fire cracked and sparked underneath the pale moonlight. Marshmallows stuck firmly on sticks hung over it, held by all the hungry campers. Some were still fluffy and white, whereas others were already crispy and black—those mostly belonged to Spencer.

Freddie's cuts had been taken care of and now he felt much better, as if that rosebush hadn't even existed. Sam surprisingly was good at first aid—even better than Carly—and tended to Freddie, though he would've felt safer with Carly. But Sam was unusually gentle, unless Freddie contradicted her methods—then she wouldn't hesitate to put him back in place.

Now the two sat next to each other on the same log, somewhat reluctant, roasting their marshmallows.

"Move yours, Frederly!" Sam told Freddie, for their marshmallows had gotten close. Freddie wasn't ready to obey Sam; after falling into a bush because of her, couldn't she just leave him be? Not Sam Puckett.

"No!" he shouted back, elbowing her away, "I was her first, Puckett!" Sam's eyes narrowed into evil slits, and Freddie was afraid he'd gone too far. She simply stared at him with knives in her pupils, silently warning him not to mess with her.

"Move. Yours. Fredward." she said, dangerously calm. Freddie gulped; he knew what would come after for him, and it wasn't pretty. But he still stubbornly refused to move, despite her command, and moved his gaze back onto the marshmallow resting over the fire. Sam snarled at him but didn't harm him; instead, she amazingly moved hers away. Freddie smiled after getting over the shock—maybe Sam liked him more now.

Soon he reeled his marshmallow back in: it was deliciously crunchy-looking, and he couldn't wait to pop it between two graham crackers. He slid it off the stick and lifted it up to his face as he bent down to grab some graham crackers. As he bent, something impacted the fluffy treat and it smashed him, causing the white goop to stick onto his face. A laugh echoed beside him, and he caught Sam's hand retracting from the goo on his face. _Guess she hasn't changed, _he thought sourly.

"Har har, Puckett." he snarled, trying fruitlessly to wipe his face; everything just stuck to his hands. He sighed angrily and glared at Sam but she was innocently eating her newly-made s'more. Carly rolled her eyes at her backbiting friends and twisted her marshmallow so the flames could blacken the other side.

"Ah…" exclaimed Gibby as his marshmallow plopped into the fire after melting off his stick. He looked at the pitiful ball of white fluff as the flames devoured it viciously until it was a pile of ash. Carly patted her buddy's back comfortingly and he felt better that instant.

"Don't worry, Gibby," she consoled, "At least it didn't—" A loud _boom_ came and they all looked at Spencer, who's marshmallow was dripping off his stick as it burst into flames.

"—explode." Carly finished with a sigh.

"How does that happen? !" Spencer yelled, angry at his ability to make things spontaneously combust. They laughed and returned to their s'mores, shaking their heads at the uncanny man.

'~**~'

The boys were already in their sleeping bags in special spots about the camp, ready for slumber after the first day of camping. Tomorrow they'd restart on beavecoon-hunting, and they needed their rest now.

Carly had set up her sleeping bag beside the fire pit where Gibby too had put his. She hadn't noticed how close the two were until she stood back to check her sleeping bag. He was already asleep though, so she didn't have to worry about awkwardness again.

She was going into the RV to brush her teeth before bedtime when an article of clothing smacked her in the face. She peeled it off her face and saw it was a shirt of Sam's—the one that said _Blueberry Socks._ She was rather random when it came to dressing in Penny-T's.

Carly looked for what threw Sam's shirt at her, and saw the blonde herself digging through her suitcase, flinging her stuff everywhere. Shirts, pants, and accessories cluttered the ground. Her face was distressed and her golden tendrils were tangled. Carly ran up to her and asked what was wrong. Sam snapped away from her duffel bag and looked wildly at Carly, eyes filled with a strange fearfulness.

"I can't find it!" Sam yelled, wringing her hair, "It's lost! I can't find it _anywhere_!"

"What?" Carly said, "What'd you lose?" Sam clasped onto her pal's shoulders with her hands and her nails dug into the fabric of her shirt.

"Baby!" Sam whispered shakily, "My stuffed pig! You know, the one I keep by my side every night since I was little?" Carly remembered at once what Sam's words meant: when she was younger Sam had trouble sleeping so her mom bought her a stuffed pig to help her. She always fell asleep with it from then on. She hadn't been separated from it ever.

"Don't worry." Carly said calmly, hoping Sam would calm down, "Did you pack it?"

"Yes!" Sam shouted, then calmed, "Oh, sorry. Yes." Carly patted her ear, for Sam had practically ruptured her eardrum.

"Are you _sure_?" she said.

"Yes!" Sam said. Her face was stressed-out but soon became wondering and thoughtful. "Wait…maybe I didn't…oh yeah, I left her on the kitchen table." Carly let out a relieved breath; now Sam might not scream anymore.

"But what now? !" Sam screamed. _So much for that hope, _Carly thought, patting her other ear.

"Try sleeping without it." she offered.

"No, I _need_ something to hold while I fall asleep!" Sam said, "It's been that way since I was little!"

"Well, _try_." Carly said, moving towards the bathroom; she couldn't help Sam anymore. "It couldn't hurt." She then disappeared into the RV's bathroom, ready to finally get her teeth brushed. Sam looked after her best friend; that was it? "Try"? Was that all the advice she could give?

Sam decided it was no use fighting and hopped off the RV to her sleeping bag. She realized she had put it next to Freddie's, something she hated herself immediately for doing. But she was too tired—or too lazy—to move, so she got inside. She laid her head on the ground, having forgotten a pillow, and closed her eyes. However, no sleep came; all she could think of was that cute stuffed pig on the kitchen table. _Ugh! _she thought angrily, _Suck it up, Puckett! You don't need any help falling asleep!_ Unfortunately, Sam knew this was a lie; she needed something to fall asleep with. Anything would do. _Why didn't I bring a pillow? _she thought, hating herself even more. She shut her eyes tight and refused to open them, demanding sleep mentally. Thankfully, it fell upon her soon, but nightmares invaded her mind.

Freddie was beside her in his own sleeping bag, watching the beautiful stars above. It was calming to have them there—they always made him feel more at peace. Every night when he would have trouble sleeping, he'd sneak onto the fire escape and watch the stars. Then he might get drowsy and hustle back to bed. Other times he fell asleep in his lawn chair, and earned a lecture from his mother the next morning.

He felt something graze his arm. He looked to see Sam's hands were flailing around as she stirred. Her face was scrunched in discomfort and she looked stressed. _Nightmare, _Freddie thought as she gritted her teeth and moved again. He was about to look back at the sky when Sam's arms landed on his chest. He stared at her in disbelief. _What is she doing? _he thought, and then he remembered, _Oh yeah, asleep. She doesn't know what she's doing._ He tried carefully to remove Sam's arms off him but his touch caused her to groan and move closer to him. Her arms wrapped tighter round his chest and she nuzzled into his neck. Freddie's eyes widened in fear—not fear of her snuggling him; fear of her waking up to find the two like this. She'd kill him if she found out that she had snuggled up to him in sleep. Somehow she'd make it to be his fault, and he wasn't really anxious for that.

He attempted to get her over gently again but she once more whimpered and moved even closer. Her arms had an iron-grip around his chest and her head rested just above them, right under his chin. She seemed so at peace on him—her before tense face was now placid and happy, the result of something to comfort her while she dreamt. That something oddly being Freddie. Her body heat radiated off her onto him, and he shivered as the outside's cold dispersed with her heat. It was soothing and he felt his own arm sliding up her back to hold her to him. His other arm reached over her and locked fingers with the first, binding them together. Sam smiled as this bundle of warmth enclosed her; she didn't know what it was, but she was happy to have something to cuddle considering Baby the pig wasn't there. Now she could sleep without nightmares.

Gibby watched as the two huddled together. They might not know they were snuggling each other but it was still very sweet to watch. Gibby was one of those rare guys who liked watching cute moments like that. He only wished he could have a girl to cuddle himself. He sighed sadly. He once had a girl like that, but she wasn't the kind of girl he could be with. Tasha was nice (and hot) but she was too possessive and cared only about kissing, and she was _way_ too jealous. So he broke up with her; after a long time of her being angry, they became friends. Sort of…more like neutral countries with atomic bombs. At least, her country on the bombs part.

He turned to awaken Carly so she could see the "little lovebirds" as he put it, but her mumbling distracted him. Her words were muddled if you didn't listen hard enough but he wanted to hear. He was suddenly uninterested in Sam and Freddie's snuggling and more into Carly's sleep talk. He moved nearer to the ground so he was level with her head and strained to hear.

"Mmm…" she murmured, "Gibby…" Gibby's ears perked up instantly at this. Just what was she dreaming of that made her utter his name? He moved his ears closer to her to hear.

"Gibby…" she continued in her quiet tone, "Careful, Gibby…don't…the branch…"

"What branch?" Gibby whispered before he realized she was merely asleep. But he had read somewhere people respond to you even when they're asleep. Maybe she'd—

"In…tree…" she said, shifting, "I'm fine…don't…stay down…"

"Stay down?" Gibby asked, "What do you mean? Stay out of the tree?" Carly nodded, stirring uncomfortably.

"I'll get down on my own…Gibby, no…you're too heavy…" _Well!_ Gibby thought. He felt offended by her dream-words but listened anyway; it was too interesting to pass up.

"Gibby…you're going to fall…no…Gibby…Gibby!" she screamed suddenly. Gibby put his pudgy hands on her and shook her; he didn't want her to wake up everyone and their mother up with her shrieks. Her brown eyes popped open in a flash and her mouth hung open in shock and fear. Once seeing him, relief flushed over her.

"Gibby!" she said, "You're okay!" She wriggled out of her sleeping bag and hugged him, making him tumble over in surprise. He hugged her back though; it was a nice feeling to hug her. When she eventually pulled away she noticed her sudden outburst and hastily went back to her sleeping bag. A silence fell between the two, until Gibby decided to break it.

"So…what was the dream about?" he asked.

"Oh…" Carly said, shrugging, "We were just in a tree and…you fell out of it." _Sweet dreams, _Gibby thought sarcastically.

"I was really scared in it," she continued, "scared you'd…well, you'd…you know." Gibby nodded, gulping at the thought. It was a bit grotesque to think about before he'd sleep.

"Well, you're…uh…awake now, so…" he said.

"We should go back to bed." Carly said, suddenly going back into her sleeping bag and pretending to be asleep. Gibby watched her as she pretended to be fast asleep, snoring for emphasis. Gibby, being Gibby, believed she was in slumber and laid down in his sleeping bag.

Carly nervously looked over her shoulder to find Gibby in his own sleeping bag, not noticing her anymore. _Good thing he believed that, _she thought. Her mind replayed the terrible scene of him falling from the high tree, unable to be helped by her until she awoke. She sighed with relief and frustration, but more of the latter.

_I do _not _love Gibby Cornelius Gibson, _she told herseslf.


	4. Put the Camera Away

**I have another whole page written for this story but I thought it was too long so I'm uploading this. It may be good, may not be. I just don't want the chapter so long you get bored. I know you hate me.**

The morning sun glinted off Sam's eyelids, shining brightly against them. They were too bright for her to try to fall back asleep. Being the first one up wasn't something she'd ask for, but it had happened most unfortunately. Sam moaned and shifted, and felt something strange under her. It wasn't lumpy or rocky like the ground but…soft and warm. She remembered finding something last night after her nightmares had subsided; she hadn't questioned what she had cuddled with before, for she was happy to find something, but now she was curious as to what was there.

She moved her head back and opened her eyes to find a boy's face close to hers. And it was Freddie's. _Chiz, I snuggled _Fredweird_? ! _she thought in disgust. She tried to get off his chest to find something was binding her to him. She looked out of the corner of her eye and saw his arms snaked around her torso. She couldn't believe he was actually embracing her like this. She would've killed him if he was awake. Thankfully, though, his eyes were still closed in slumber.

She attempted to wiggle out of his arms but his grip was stronger than she thought it could be. It took her a full minute to realize she wasn't getting away if he was still asleep. She glared at his closed eyes, knowing the second they opened he was going to die. She hoped, however, that she'd break free first; she didn't want him to think she _like_-liked him or anything similar to that. She was humiliated enough for accidentally snuggling him.

Sighing in frustration, she gave up the hopeless effort of escaping him, and rested her head back below his chin. As she set her head down his arms tightened their hold. His slow breaths tickled her hair and warmed her on the oddly cold morning. She allowed herself to nuzzle his chest, for his warmth was nice. But she didn't _like _it; not at all.

Only a few feet away Carly was stirring. She remembered the dream of Gibby falling from the tree and awaking to jump into his arms. She was just glad he believed she had fallen back asleep so she could avoid the weirdness between them. It had been weird a lot since they started camping, and she pondered if either Sam or Freddie felt awkward toward anything either.

_Certainly not each other, _Carly mused, standing, _That would be a laugh._ She made her way to the RV to change into her regular clothes when a sight in front of her caused her to stop in her tracks: her two best friends—sworn enemies to each other—snuggling. Her jaw dropped a couple inches and her chestnut-colored eyes grew to great size. But soon her mouth twitched to become a smile. In a flash, she was in the RV, searching for her camera.

Freddie slowly opened his eyes; the brilliance of the sunlight was burning them, causing him to become a little teary-eyed. He started to crawl out of his sleeping bag when he felt a weight on him. He didn't have to look to realize it was Sam. He remembered her cuddling him the night before. He was surprised she still was asleep with the sun beating down. But he was more thankful because he didn't want Sam awaking to the sight.

He began removing his arms from around her when a bright flash exploded before him. He blinked rapidly and covered his eyes with one arm, trying to keep the white glow from burning his irises.

"Ah, Freddie, your eyes were open!" someone complained, "Now you won't look asleep! Close them again, okay?" Freddie moved his arm away to see the source of the giant flash belonged to a camera in Carly's hands. He stared angrily at Carly; how could she photograph him in such a position? ! A position that might surely wake up Sam too—

Just then the she-demon herself began stirring. Freddie quickly moved out from under her, hoping to escape before she realized it was him she had cuddled. After his feet became the only thing under her head, her eyes opened up. She yawned and moved up on her arms, and Freddie took his feet away hastily. She looked to Carly and glowered at the camera.

"Why'd you take that picture?" she growled. Freddie tensed; did she know it had been him? Carly smiled guiltily, twisting the camera round in her small hands.

"You two just looked so _adorable_!" she exclaimed, "And when will you ever snuggle again?" Sam rotated her head to stare at Freddie and his eyes grew wide in fear. _I don't want to die today, _he thought, crawling gradually away from Sam. But she didn't attack him; instead she stood and ran towards Carly, bent on destroying that camera. But Carly hopped to the side, smiling.

"Shay, you better get rid of that photo!" Sam yelled, pointing at the camera.

"No one will ever see this." Carly said seriously, "I swear only you, me, and Freddie will _ever_ know this happened." Sam gazed ponderingly at Carly, thinking of what to do. She could easily kill that picture; all she'd have to do would be sneak up on Carly secretly, steal the camera, and obliterate it with a rock. But Carly was her friend and Sam wouldn't be that cruel; even if possibly the worst photograph ever was on that camera.

"Fine." she finally snarled, causing Carly elation, "But if anyone else _ever_ sets eyes on that, you're dead."

"Okay, I promise." Carly said, her smile bright enough to light ten light bulbs. She squealed and ran back to the RV. Freddie timidly rose to his feet and walked near Sam, who was staring at the RV window in amazement of herself. She switched her eyes onto him and Freddie gulped; the way her hands were placed on her hips and the way her eyes narrowed added to his fear of her at that minute.

"Uh…" he said, "I…we…you…"

"Ah, shut it, Fredwina." Sam said, releasing her hips and pushing past him. He was happy she was not about to place him in the hospital. He turned to see she was rolling up her sleeping bag, refusing to even look in his general direction. Freddie felt his heart drop at this; he'd rather have her kill him than ignore him. Shrugging awkwardly to himself, he went to retrieve his sleeping bag too.

Sam still didn't speak to him about the event, something he was oddly upset about. A simple word would've satisfied him instead of zero. He knew it might cause him to be murdered, but he had to talk to her.

"Hey, Sam?" he asked. She didn't face him or say anything—she kept on ignoring him. He took a deep breath before speaking once more. "Sam, I just want to say—"

"Let it drop!" she shouted, spinning to face him finally. He staggered backward. As he watched her face a smirk played along his lips; Sam was blushing.

"Embarrassed?" he mocked. Her red hue increased, as did her glare. He knew Sam was indeed embarrassed to have acted so affectionately and, though Freddie was equally as humiliated, he liked teasing her. He actually found it a little…_cute_ when her face turned that uncomfortable pink. He mentally slapped himself for that. _She's not cute!_ he told himself, _She's a demon!_ Well, maybe demons could be cute…

"No!" she said, "More like _revolted_." Freddie smirked wider at her comment, for her force with it was quite unnecessary. Sam knew Freddie could sense her humiliation and was using it to his advantage. She could've killed him for mocking her like that! In fact, she just might.

"Uh-huh." Freddie said, the devious smirk still there, "It's alright, Sammy." He patted her shoulder almost sympathetically. "You'll get over me." Sam snatched his hand and yanked it off her shoulder. Her merciless blue eyes bore into him, and Freddie knew he'd gone too far. He just _had_ to tease her; now he was definitely dead.

"_Don't_ call me Sammy." she snarled, "Got it, Fredward?" Freddie nodded, and Sam released him. "Glad we had this talk." She smirked, picked up her sleeping bag, and went into the RV. Freddie sighed, very much angry with himself. _I'm always the one who gets beat up, _he thought, _one way or another._


	5. Lively Body and Deadly Device

**Sorry for the delay! I was a bit uninspired but I'm back now!**

Sam tossed her sleeping bag to the side once she entered the RV. She could hear Carly in the bathroom, brushing her teeth, and felt anger. _How could she snap that picture? !_ she thought, _Boy, if she wasn't Carly, I'd kill her._ She was embarrassed enough having acted like that towards Freddie without a photograph to show for it. Carly was constantly meddling in their business, trying to make them friends, but it was all just a futile attempt—and irritating too.

Sam went into the RV's bedroom—she was a bit angry Spencer refused to use them—to grab her clothing from the duffel bag. She changed out of her sweatpants and into khakis, and then changed from a sloppy T-shirt to a basketball jersey with a hoodie over it. She then ran a brush through her hair while looking out the window.

Gibby and Spencer had gotten up and were rolling their sleeping bags up too. Freddie stood by them, his own under his arm, looking unhappy. Sam smirked; she was always happy she could cause the nub such torment. If only she were paid…she'd be rich. But sometimes she liked seeing him happy too—it was always a nice feeling when your buddies felt excited about something. Of course, she'd never admit she enjoyed his joy. She did, after all, have a rep to keep up.

"Hey, guess what?" she heard Gibby say to Freddie, "I saw a creek nearby! Want to go swimming?"

"Ah, awesome, Gib!" she heard Freddie reply as he bumped fists with Gibby, "Things are looking up here. We should tell the girls." Gibby nodded as he went to the RV. Sam smiled; swimming would be fun. The only thing she didn't like was how every last swimsuit for girls her age were bikinis; she personally wasn't a fan of them. She preferred one-pieces, because she knew what pigs guys were. But she had gotten a bikini anyway, it being the only thing available.

She went to retrieve it when she heard Gibby announcing the swim trip. Carly squealed in happiness and soon joined Sam in the bedroom. Sam refused to look at her best friend; she merely pretended the brunette was elsewhere. Carly didn't like receiving the cold shoulder but knew what to expect from Sam. In a few minutes she knew Sam would be back to her happy, crazy self, forgetting the event of the morning.

"You won't be so sour for long," Carly said in a sing-song voice, "Especially after you see Freddie in a swimsuit." The previous blush returned to the blonde's cheeks. Her fingernails dug into the bikini top she had just found and bit back a smart remark—she saved those for Freddork.

"I do _not_ like him." she said with force, heading to the bathroom, "He's just a nub." Carly giggled as Sam shut the bathroom door.

"No, he's not." she teased, her head against the door, "He's also a teddy bear." A loud knock against the door caused Carly to stumble backwards but she just laughed at Sam.

"You're never going to let that go, are you?" Sam said.

"Nope!" Carly replied, going to the bedroom to change into her own bathing suit. Sam growled from behind the door, growing even more annoyed with the Shay girl.

Freddie and Gibby had boarded the RV and were waiting in the kitchen area for Carly to leave the bedroom so they could get their own swim trunks. Gibby was asking Freddie what the ruckus he had awoken to was. Freddie didn't tell him it was because Carly took a photo of him and Sam snuggling; he knew that if anyone else had knowledge of the event Sam would be on a rampage.

As Freddie denied another answer, the door to the bathroom door opened. He looked over to see Sam emerging from it in a purple bikini. His jaw almost dropped; she was radiant in the swimsuit. She was absolutely stunning. He couldn't help but feel suddenly self-conscious.

"What're you staring at, Freddio?" Sam snapped and he looked away hastily.

"N-Nothing," he stammered, "Uh, is Carly done yet?" He changed the subject in fear that Sam would notice his stutter and mock him just like he mocked her. She noticed him suddenly change the subject but decided against making him feel uncomfortable, for she had enough awkwardness already.

"Duh, no." she replied instead. Just as their conversation ended Carly stepped out of the bedroom in a polka-dotted pink bikini, and Freddie dashed inside the bedroom (away from Sam) without so much as a glance at the brunette. Carly, a bit confused, stared at the door Freddie slammed shut but shrugged and turned away.

Gibby, impatient, ripped his shirt off there, saying "Who cares about swimsuits?" Carly gave a giggle at his nature of not caring what others thought. She always thought confidence was a handsome trait for a guy, and—even if the guy was Gibby—found herself swooning a little.

Freddie emerged from the bedroom soon, looking red-faced in his beige trunks. He kept his gaze away from Sam, fearful of his own hormones. How could seeing her in a purple bikini suddenly make him feel hideous and give him a need to impress her? Like he needed Sam's approval to feel good; as if she'd give him approval.

"There you are!" Carly shouted jubilantly, "Let's hit the lake!" The other teens (excluding the bashful Freddie) gave cheers and rushed outside the RV. They were ready for a fun day at the waterside, and Freddie was hoping it _would_ be fun, if he could just get his eyes off Sam.

* * *

Spencer watched his sister and her pals screaming and rushing off to the creek Gibby said he found with glee. Although he wanted help in catching the beavecoon, he guessed they could have a little fun while they were at the camping site. He only wished there was someone to carry the traps for him.

He lugged one sharp trap out of the RV. It was deadly and he knew if he wasn't careful, he'd get his hand snapped off. Or his foot. Or his head. It didn't really matter; the fact still remained that it wouldn't be pretty if he made a mistake.

"Oh, I forgot the sunscreen!" Carly's voice said, "Will you come with me to get it, Gibby?" He heard the clopping of feet as Carly and her rotund pal ran near to the campsite. Spencer smiled at the kids; it was strange that Carly had asked Gibby to accompany her instead of Sam, her very best friend. She seemed happy that Gibby had agreed to come and something told Spencer it didn't take Gib long to say yes. The young man wondered if his baby sister had feelings for this fellow. She certainly appeared happy with him next to her as they rummaged through her suitcase for sunscreen. It'd be an odd event for Carly and Gibby to date—especially since the boy's mother had once dated Spencer. But the idea of dating a woman who looked so much like her son, to say the least, sickened Spencer so he broke it off. And perhaps that was a smart move.

"Got it!" Carly said, "Now let's go—what's that?" Spencer raised his head to see her pointing a finger at the metal traps in his hands.

"I'm gonna set these up to catch the beavecoon!" Spencer exclaimed with enthusiasm, "Wanna help?"

"No!" Carly yelled. He cocked his head and scrunched his brow to show her he was confused on why she was so angered at the things he held.

"'No'?" he asked.

"Those things are inhumane!" she shouted, still scowling at the traps as though something dead was hanging from the jagged teeth. "They hurt poor, innocent animals and for what? Furs for the cruel trappers who want money!"

"But Carly," Spencer said, hoping to get his point across before Carly started throwing a hissy-fit, "I don't want the beavecoon's fur, or its money." Carly rolled her eyes. "I want to have one to prove they exist. Is that so bad?"

"When you're using traps, yes!" Carly said, "It _is_!" Spencer loaded the traps in a special pouch he bought from a wilderness shop. He then put the pouch on his back and walked near to the forest, saying "You kids just go hang and have fun!"

Carly glared at her brother's back as he retreated. _How could he say that was okay?_ she thought, _I know he's never been the smartest dude, but this is plain idiotic!_ Gibby shifted his feet in agitation whilst watching Carly seethe in her brain. He was afraid to say something for Carly was known to be dangerous when angry. If you ticked her off, you'd feel her rage and never be the same mentally again.

"C-C-Carly?" he said, "W-Why don't we go to the creek? I'm sure Sam n' Freddie are worried by—"

"We're not going back there." she growled, "We're going to follow Spencer and pick up all the traps he sets." Gibby gaped at her. This was an insane idea to him (and if Gibby thought something was insane, it probably was). Trailing behind her brother to unset and carry animal traps for who knows how many miles was ridiculous and stupid. How could Carly come up with that, when she was the one who tried to keep the peace by _not_ going all crazy?

"'We'?" Gibby said, "No. _I'm_ going to bathe in the sun and swim in the water. I'm not following Spence to—"

"Please, Gibby?" Carly interrupted, "For me?" Normally this was the way Carly would get Freddie to do whatever she needed to be done, but it worked just as well (if not better) on Gibby, who started for the section of the trees where Spencer had gone, saying "Which way?" Carly grinned and took his large hand in her petite one. Then the two escaped to the forest to become crusaders for animal safety.


	6. Threatened

"Samantha J. Puckett, swimmer extraordinaire, is ready to earn her fifteenth gold medal." Sam commentated. She and Freddie had walked all the way out to the creek by themselves. Carly and Gibby hadn't returned and at first the duo was worried, but Sam received a text message from Carly. It said she and the Gibson boy would be staying at the campsite for neither "felt up to swimming" that day. Neither Sam nor Freddie liked the prospect of spending a morning together but they both sucked it up and stayed near the creek.

The creek's surroundings were peculiar: a short cliff ended where the creek started. It was a perfect place to dive. A giant tree stood at the end of the cliff, one branch reaching out over the water. On that branch was a rope for swinging into the water with. Sam, happy for something thrilling, was now getting ready to run and jump in.

"All she has to do is run out along the perilous cliff," she continued, "grab the constantly moving rope, plunge into the shark-infested waters, and swim back to shore through the tricky rapids and she will become the first person to complete the treacherous obstacle course dubbed Danger Creek, of which no swimmer has survived." Freddie rolled his eyes as he watched Sam from a few paces away. He was sitting at the edge of the cliff, swishing his feet around in the water. He was content with only keeping his feet in the water, not at all swimming. Sam was different than him in this case; she wanted to get in the water and swim around as though sharks were chasing her. One thing about Sam Puckett was that her imagination was larger than you'd expect.

Sam glared at the rope swinging in a mild manner above the water. In her head, it was swishing back-and-forth in a way that said it was impossible to catch it. She planted herself in a racer position, eyeing the rope like it was the only thing before her. Freddie found the way she rested upon one knee with the other grazing her ear comedic, and let out a tiny laugh.

"Quiet, Dishrag!" Sam shouted, twisting her head to stare at him, "I need complete concentration or I'll die, you got that?" Freddie sighed with a smile and shook his head.

"There aren't any real sharks in the water," he said, "no matter what your odd little imagination says." Sam smirked as a cruel idea popped into her mind. _So there are no sharks?_ she thought, _We'll see about _that_, Fredloser._

She returned her face to the rope and launched back into her dreamland of swimming Olympics. "After a brief interruption from an overly infatuated fan"—Freddie turned red but mostly remained annoyed—"Sam Puckett is ready for her terrifying leap. A hush falls over the crowd as she eyes the rope. With a deep breath…she runs!" Sam pounced into a run for the tree branch. The adrenaline pumped as she sprinted closer and closer. The rope was right in front of her before she knew it. She jumped and her hands closed around the scratchy fabric of said rope.

Freddie tensed while his eyes followed her swinging body. Some part of him became worried that she'd fall. Possibilities ran through his mind: she could rip the skin on her hands, knock her head on the edge of the cliff as she dropped, the water could be shallower than expected…so many reasons to be afraid ran in his brain, making him nervous. But Sam was surely able to take care of herself…still…

Sam swung herself around above the creek, trying to find the perfect spot to dive. As she moved she rethought the idea of her stunt and grew a bit fearful. But she was fine; besides, she had to prank Freddie. She sucked it up and set her sights on a spot in the water near him. Gritting her teeth, she swung herself towards it, and jumped.

_Splash!_ Water sprayed everywhere as Sam made contact with the warm water. Freddie shielded himself from the drops by throwing his hands up but he still got wet. He moved his arms to glower at the demonic girl, but he couldn't find her.

"Sam?" he called, "Sam, where are you? Are you okay?" Now he was starting to worry. Had she gone under? Was she breathing? What if she was…? He shook this away. Sam was still alive. She had a strong soul. She was alive. He could feel it; he knew—just knew—she was okay. Almost like they had telepathy.

"Sa—" he started to yell, just in case, when a wave of water collapsed on him. He screamed and sputtered the creek's filthy water out of his mouth, and shook his head to clear it. He knew that, without a doubt, Sam had something to do with this.

"Yes, ladies and gentlemen!" the voice of said girl cried, "Sam Puckett has done it! She has survived Danger Creek, and won her fifteenth gold medal! No one has ever been able to accomplish such a feat!" Freddie rubbed his eyes and then looked up at her. She had her back to him and was holding out her arms as though waving to a crazy crowd. She kept saying thanks to invisible judges and such. Freddie smiled at her childish portraying of her imagination; even Spencer couldn't compare to the mind of Sam. She may not be the smartest woman but she is certainly creative.

"Please stop!" Sam said, still waving to her imaginary mob of admirers, "Please! You're all too, too much!" An idea popped into Freddie's head. It was the perfect way to get back at Sam. He slowly got up from his perch and sloshed up behind her. With a swift motion, he had picked her up. She shrieked in surprise as he held her, bridal style, but her shock subsided once she saw it was only Freddie.

"It's apparent that the young man who interrupted Sam Puckett earlier is a very big fan." Sam said in her announcer voice, a smirk on her lips, "His crush on the bodacious Olympic swimmer is quite large with the way he ran out to congratulate her on her fifteenth medal." Freddie again felt the heat upon his neck grow hotter with the way Sam talked. "Now, most celebrities would call for security to punish such an inappropriate display of affection, but Ms. Puckett is complimented by him. She invites him for a swim at her pool in her mansion in Fresno. What does the little fellow say?" Freddie grinned devilishly as Sam gave him the chance to do as she asked. He nodded.

"He accepts," he said, "So let's swim, shall we?" With that Freddie lifted her up and threw her into the water. She gave a screech as her body again hit the creek—only this time it was unexpected. She coughed the balmy water out of her mouth, feeling angered but mainly irritated. She looked to Freddie and saw him laughing at her. _At her_. That did it for Sam.

She swam over to him, grabbed the twerp's ankles, and pulled him down with her.

* * *

Gibby swatted the bugs away while he and Carly trudged through the underbrush. He wasn't happy with walking through the trees and bushes—especially with them whapping at him and giving him cuts—but somehow Carly had talked him into it. He didn't have to go even she was his friend. However, he wondered if he still wanted to be only friends.

"I think I see something!" Carly whispered, bending down to go on her knees. Gibby bent too and looked where she was: metal teeth were poking out of the bush. Carly pushed some leaves and such away to reveal a full trap much like the kind Spencer had in his hands. They had found Trap #1. All that was left was to get rid of it.

"How do you un-set it?" Carly asked. Gibby shrugged. One false move and that trap would snap a hand off. It was too risky to fiddle around aimlessly with. Gibby had his hands on Carly's arms to keep her from going forward should she try. She hadn't seemed to notice that his hands were holding her but she'd know soon.

"How're we gonna get rid of it without, you know, killing ourselves?" Gibby asked, his eyes not wandering from the uneven edges of the trap, ready to clamp down on unsuspecting animals' legs. He heard some desperate creatures that got trapped would gnaw their own leg off. It was a disgusting mental picture.

A rustling in the bush alerted the two, and they moved away from the trap. Carly's eyes had grown huge with fear; not of being attacked, but of the poor animal to be. Gibby moved a bit in front of her to protect her from any beast that might strike.

A leg came out of the brush. But it wasn't a raccoon's, or a beaver's, or a beavecoon's. It was a human leg with gray pants covering it. Soon followed another gray pant leg and a torso with a grayish-blue jacket and black shirt on it. Then a head upon the torso came and it stunned Carly when she saw whose face it was.

He was equally as surprised to see her. A smirk came on his face and he waved a casual hand at her. She hadn't seen him in a long while. Ever since the incident between them occurred she and he were not speaking to the other. Neither felt like the other was being fair in their relationship and they hadn't seen each other since that was decided.

"Well, well, well, Carly Shay." he said, "Camping too?"

"Griffin." Carly said, smiling in spite of herself, "Uh, yeah! Spencer's kind of gone crazier, and thinks there's this thing called the beavecoon. He wants to catch it and we're helping him." Griffin cocked an eyebrow.

"No Sam or Freddie?" he asked, looking to Gibby. Gibby stood as the boy's eyes bored into him, as though he wanted to make himself feel taller. Carly stood too as she saw Gibby do so.

"Um, they're swimming." she explained, "Gibby's helping me with the traps, you see." Griffin gave a curt nod Gibby's way, causing his blood to boil. Griffin smirked even wider at Carly and stepped forward fully into their spot, and he was awfully close to the brunette.

"Setting them up?" he asked.

"No," Carly said, noticing his closeness and moving away, "getting rid of them. They're appalling and Spencer shouldn't be putting them around here." Griffin looked back at the metal trap—located where he was a moment ago—and scrutinized it. Carly looked over his hands: they were rough and calloused. The hands he had were those of a hardworking man, whereas Gibby's were soft and chubby like a baby's. And babies don't play with traps.

Griffin squatted down by the trap. "Maybe I can help." he said. He grabbed a stick from nearby and backed away from the metal. He reached out and tapped the metal with the wood; Carly sucked in a breath. Nothing happened. Griffin tapped the trap's side again, like he was finding a certain spot. Then he threw it in the middle and ran back. As soon as the stick made contact in the middle of the trap, it snapped its jaws down, obliterating the twig. Splinters flew everywhere and the teens shielded themselves as they fell. Once the wooden rainfall was over with, Carly gave a weak grin to Griffin.

"Wow," she said quietly, "wish I'd thought of that." Griffin chuckled. "Do you wanna come with us and help?" Griffin nodded and said "I'd _love_ that." Carly gave a small giggle and started to skip farther into the trees, leaving the boys alone with the trap.

Gibby glared at Griffin as he fiddled with it. Something about this character made the hairs on the back of Gibby's neck stand up. Though he collected Pee-Wee Babies, he was still a bad boy with a smirk and leather jacket. They couldn't be trusted. It didn't matter how many penguins they had in plastic boxes.

Griffin removed as much mutilated wood as he could and picked the trap up gingerly. He turned after securing it in his muscular hands to see Gibby was close and angry.

"Whoa, what up?" he said, chuckling a little. Gibby, however, was in no mood to laugh. He pointed a finger squarely in Griffin's chest.

"Look, 'Griffin'," he said, "back off Carly. You and her are history, and I don't want you hurting her." Griffin was stunned that a kid like him would stand up to a dude like himself. He would've been impressed if the guy wasn't messing around with his love life.

"You probably have the hots for her too." Griffin said, "Understandable. But a woman like that"—he pointed in the direction Carly had gone—"needs a man like me. Not an Oompa Loompa like you." Gibby gasped in anger. _Oompa Loompa? _he thought, _That's below the belt!_

"I'm not an Oompa Loompa!" Gibby shouted, "But that's not the point. The point is you're a conniving bad boy and Carly's a sweet girl."

"Kid, I'm sure you'll get your own lady friend without trying to take mine." Griffin interrupted, smiling evilly, "Just gotta lay off the Girl Scout cookies." He poked Gibby's protruding belly for emphasis and threw his head back to laugh. Gibby shook with fury; he comes waltzing in and thinks he gets Carly like that, _and_ he insults Gibby's height and weight. In Gibby's head, that was _not_ cool.

Gibby was about to retaliate when Carly appeared, looking nervous. She said "You guys okay? I thought you were following me." Griffin raised an eyebrow in Gibby's direction and smirked.

"Nah, me and the Gibster are chill." he said, as though the two new enemies were best bros. "We just forgot to walk after I undid this." He lifted the trap while flexing his arm muscles. This angered Gibby even more because, looking at his flabby arms, he knew he couldn't be a stud like Griffin. No wonder Carly blushed and stammered at the sight of him. She'd never be so starstruck in the presence of Gibby. He just wasn't hot like Griffin. He wasn't hot, period.

"Good." Carly said, avoiding Griffin's strapping physique as her face flushed. "Let's, er, get going. Before any animals find a trap." The boys nodded and followed the petite female. When her eyes were no longer on them, they exchanged a glower with a smirk (Griffin owned the smirk solely). Gibby was normally a nice person who had no enemies and wanted no conflict. Yes, once he challenged Freddie to a fight but that was because he thought he'd stolen his woman. Gibby may've let people bully him and give Texas wedgies, but no one came between him and his girlfriend. Though all was forgiven between him and Freddie (for Freddie hadn't really stolen Tasha), Gibby knew Griffin wasn't at all a nice guy.

A love war had just been started in the forests of Seattle.


	7. Two Different Types of Babies

Carly stumbled through the trees with the guys close behind. She had been shocked to find Griffin was camping nearby, and she was contemplating if that was good or bad. He was a very hot bad boy with an edge but there was still the Pee Wee Babies thing to think about. Could she really date a teenage boy with the mind of a little girl?

Looking past Griffin was Gibby. He may not be as cute as Griffin was (at least, not in a teen boy way) but he was generous and kind to her, though he was still weird. She had been feeling different towards him lately but what if the sudden appearance of Griffin was a sign that she and him were meant to be together? Or was it a coincidence and she should be with Gibby?

_Some days I really wish I liked Freddie,_ she thought. Freddie, however, appeared to have gotten over his crush on her but it didn't matter; Carly didn't like Freddie—she liked Gibby. And Griffin. Which was a dilemma.

"Hey, not so fast, babe." sniggered Griffin, coming up behind her. Being called babe by Griffin gave Carly a tingly feeling but she couldn't help but imagine Gibby saying it also. _As if _one_ guy isn't trouble enough,_ she sighed mentally. Griffin showed off a smirk while reaching for Carly's pale hand. She pulled back from him, not wanting to have him be so close.

"Whatsamatter?" he asked, his smirk leaving his face. Carly moaned; this love triangle was giving her a headache.

"Nothing, just…" she said, trying to find the right words, "I think I see another trap! Yup, over there!" Griffin took his eyes off the Shay girl and, in a feat to amaze her, ran off to where she pointed. Carly didn't really see a trap but she prayed Griffin would be too busy searching to flirt with her.

Grunts came from beside her, and Carly twisted round to see a worn-out Gibby climbing through the bushes. He got stuck between two, so Carly helped to pry him out. _How could I fall for him?_ Carly asked herself after getting Gibby's pudgy body through. _Griffin's way hotter and cooler. Gibby's just…Gibby. But I still like them both._ The anxiety grew too much for her and she let out an annoyed groan. Gibby noticed and asked if she was okay.

"Oh! Yeah." she muttered, embarrassed. Blushing, she looked away from him and down to her shoes. Gibby nodded while emitting a wistful sigh; the crimson shade on her face made her look even prettier to him. He wanted to jam his head in a tree to get those dreamy thoughts out of his head. He wasn't supposed to love Carly—maybe Griffin coming was to get them together so he'd stop fantasizing about Carly and get on with his life. But inside his heart he couldn't allow her to get together with a vain jerk like him. She deserved a nice guy who'd put her first; with Griffin she'd be lucky if he gave her as much attention as Kippy Kangaroo or Peter Penguin. Ugh, that Pee Wee-loving bad boy made him sick.

You-Know-Who popped up right then carrying a trap along with the other. He smirked at Carly while casually flexing the arm holding the traps. She looked up at his biceps and a gaga sparkle came to her eyes. Just like every girl (with the possible exception of Sam) Carly drooled over guys' muscular builds. Gibby glared down at his tummy jutting out; again he sighed, but it was more melancholy.

"Let's hop to it," Griffin said, "Need to get more traps before the animals do."

"You're so right, Grif!" Carly exclaimed. _Grif?_ Gibby thought. "Come on, hurry!" She ran off into the trees like a frightened rabbit, leaving Griffin smirking again. He looked to Gibby pompously, and went after Carly. Gibby just put his head down sadly and followed.

* * *

"Did I ever tell you I liked you?" Freddie asked.

"Nope." replied Sam.

"_Good._"

Only moments ago the two kids had been having a blast together, splashing in the water, swimming away from imaginary sharks, waving in front of invisible fans. Of course the peace betwixt them could only last so long until one got on the other's nerves. This time it was Freddie who became irritated and Sam the one who was the cause of it.

The two had been acting as though they were the "Waterlogged Wonders", a pair of famous international swimmers. Sam became the announcer and had commentated that Samantha Puckett was the better of the two, with Fredward Benson only there for show. This aggravated Freddie but it was not her words that got him angry with her.

The plan was that Freddie would run out to the swing, jump in the lake, and then catch Sam when she ran. Freddie, however, hadn't realized how scary swinging back and forth uncontrollably while also dangling over freezing water was. So, when he sprinted over, he stopped at the edge, his heartbeat erratically pumping. He turned round to tell Sam he quit but she hadn't processed him stopping, which led to their two bodies crashing into one another and having them fall—unprepared—into the water.

Freddie went under first; since he was unwilling in going in he didn't have enough time to hold his breath. Water seeped into his nostrils and down his throat, resulting in an underwater coughing fit. Sam merely landed on the surface of the lake, her head above thanks to being held afloat by the Benson's back. When she did not get off at once, Freddie stood, pushing her into the water fully at last. She turned glower at him but was met by a spray of water mixed with male saliva, which made her so mad that she charged after him, again plunging him face first into the icy water.

It was after he resumed breathing for a second time that their short exchange happened. Once delivering his catty comeback, Freddie climbed ashore where he wiped the droplets off his bare arms and torso. Sam stood over him, her left hip cocked to one side with her left hand on it.

"Lighten up, Fredwardo." she said. Freddie overlooked her less than helpful comment and brought himself to his feet. Before he rolled up his now wet towel, he pointed a finger at Sam.

"Why can't you be nice to me for once?" he said, "And my name is _Freddie_." Sam faked surrendering, which earned an eye roll from her least favorite person. He slung his towel over his shoulder and went in the direction of the campsite. Sam huffily grabbed her own and followed him, mumbling in a high-pitched voice "And my name is _Freddie_."

Once the two returned to the camp, each grabbed their regular clothes and changed in individual rooms. As each pulled their shirt over their head, they heard a squeal coming from somewhere far off. They both finished dressing and went over to the glass window to peer out. Each was wide-eyed, for they knew such a squeal didn't belong to a human being.

"What do you think it was?" Sam whispered. Freddie shrugged.

"Go lock the door." he said, "Just in case." Sam did as he said, and then returned to her spot next to him at the window. Nothing came out into the open for a long while. Freddie barely breathed; his body remained stiff as his eyes surveyed the property.

"Maybe it was a bird overhead." Sam said, hoping to break his rather creepy trance. Though Freddie knew if it were a bird it would've sounded more like a squawk, he nodded, and the two went over to the table where Sam opened up the pantry in search for food. It was after she pulled bread for a sandwich out that the squeal came again, louder and more distressed-sounding. Freddie returned to the window while Sam stayed back, almost afraid of what they'd see. Her fear became mingled with puzzlement when a grin came onto her friend's face.

"It's not a bird." he said simply before rushing outside. Sam followed, wondering what it was exactly. When she got out of the RV, her own amazed grin came on. A meager five feet away from Freddie was a baby deer.


	8. Surrogate Parents

The fawn was barely bigger than a normal human arm. Its knobby knees shook under her weight as she walked near Freddie's outstretched palm. She bleated as he moved a step closer, and tried to quickly back up which ended in her falling on her rear. It was comical and Sam chuckled but suppressed her laughter in case it would scare the baby deer off.

"It's okay, little fellah…" Freddie cooed, "We're not gonna hurt you…" He didn't move any closer to the fawn but kept his hand out, beckoning her to come up to him. After she regulated her stance she trotted up to him, observing the palm of his hand before licking it. Freddie smiled at the tickling sensation and reached up to rub her head. She shuddered at the touch at first but then eased into the comforting sense of it. Freddie turned his head to grin at the Puckett, and she returned it with her own.

Sam looked off into the trees for a sign of a full-grown deer coming to reclaim its child. Not one came out. She couldn't hear any bleats from the forest either, leading her to worry about how far this baby ran to get lost.

"Sam, get her some food." Freddie said. Sam nodded and went to look inside the pantry. She never paid attention in school classes nor did she stray far from reality shows on the tube. Whatever baby deer eat she had no idea which caused a small, panicky feeling in the back of her mind; if the fawn lost her mother and they couldn't care for it…well, Sam preferred not to think about the horrible inevitability of it should no food arise.

"What do they eat?" she shouted out the doorway. Freddie pondered the question a second, still stroking the fawn's short fur.

"Milk," he said, "or they graze, depending on their age, I think." _Well, we should own milk, _Sam thought, going back in, _Grass is another story._ There may've been no grass in the cabinets but thankfully there was plenty outside to go around. Sam opened the mini-fridge located under the pantry to find many soda pops of assorted flavors but only one carton of milk, and it didn't even contain half of the liquid it did when bought. Hopefully it'd be enough. She grabbed the carton and a bowl in another cabinet, and hustled outside to Freddie and the baby.

Freddie took his hand off the fawn to pour her milk. Her ears perked up at his soothing touch disappearing so Sam took the responsibility of petting her. The fawn didn't appear to like Sam as much but eventually found her touch as lovely as Freddie's.

Speaking of the boy, he slid the bowl of milk under the deer's nose. He and Sam both waited for her to drink but she just stared unblinkingly into the swirling white fluid. Sam stirred her finger in the bowl in case she didn't see it. The fawn_ had _seen it and was just ignoring it.

"Go ahead," she said, caressing the fawn's back, "Yummy milk. Drink up."

"She's not used to drinking it like this." Freddie said. Sam tilted her head to indicate her confusion with his words. "Baby deer are used suckling, not drinking straight from a bowl like dogs." Sam's head dropped in amazement; how the fudge did he _know_ this chiz?

"I'm sorry, Jeff Corwin," Sam fake-apologized, "but we have no mama deer here." Freddie smirked but his eyes were sad, for he knew Sam was correct.

"'Jeff Corwin'?" he chortled, "That's a new one. You're right, though." He took the milk away; the fawn looked impassive at her source of food leaving. "We need a baby bottle or something." He went inside the RV, leaving Sam alone with their new friend. As she stroked the fawn, she began thinking of a name for her. Surely they couldn't continue calling it "the fawn" or "the baby deer". What could she be called?

Sam couldn't think of a proper name for a rustling in the bushes alerted her. Was it the mother deer come to find her baby? Or a bear to eat it up, with Sam as dessert? Rising to her feet, Sam made sure to stay completely still but with her hands up in case of a struggle. She found that the rustle wasn't caused by the fawn's mother or a famished predator—it was caused by a lanky man returning to his RV.

"Spencer!" Sam said, relief flooding through her body, "What the chiz, man! I coulda had a heart attack!"

"_Sorry_!" Spencer said sardonically, looking at Sam's strange company, "What up with the deer?"

"She came by," Sam said, crouching down to calm the fawn down for the arrival of the Spencer seemed to shake her up. "Fredweirdo is in the recreational vehicle looking for something she can snack on." Spencer walked over to the baby, one hand scratching his chin.

"What can she eat?" he asked.

"Milk," she responded, "but apparently she's too _good_ for bowl-drinking." Spencer ignored the odd comment as he beamed. In a flash he was inside the RV. Freddie walked out as Spencer rushed past him, giving the man's back a sour look.

"How's Ayala doing?" he asked. Sam prepared herself to say fine when she realized what he said. Raising an eyebrow in his direction, she said "What?"

"Ayala means 'a female deer' in Hebrew." he explained. Sam shook her head at the boy's unnatural intelligence, the butt of most of her ridicule.

"Dude, you need a girlfriend _bad_." Sam laughed. Freddie sighed before leaning down beside her to pat Ayala. Sam thought it was sweet how much he cared for this bundle of life after just finding out of her existence. With the care of a father he rubbed her back. Ayala preferred his touch to Sam's, which was shown when she moved over to rub her head against his chest.

"Well." Sam said, as though this deer's choice of human contact insulted her. Freddie laughed at Sam and—instead of punching him for it—she grinned while watching him and Ayala. As the two stayed with the deer, Spencer came barreling out of nowhere with a baby bottle in his hand.

"Here you go!" he said, holding the milk out proudly. Sam took the bottle with gratitude and began to feed Ayala but Freddie was curious.

"Where'd you get that?" he asked.

"I keep 'em around for when I start my baby bottle sculpture." Spencer replied, as though having a supply of baby bottles in a recreational vehicle to create a work of art was normal. Freddie didn't press further and instead continued patting Ayala whilst Sam fed her.

* * *

Griffin finished up unlocking another trap before Carly and the fat kid came by. He was determined not to lose that fine brunette to childish circumstances again. And when his competition was a short kid who was in desperate need of Jenny Craig, he _really_ needed this win on his belt. Imagine telling his motorcycle buddies he lost _the_ Carly Shay to a Chris Farley reincarnation; no, he wouldn't have it. It was bad enough they already kidded him about his Pee Wee babies.

He hadn't realized how tough that Gibby dude could be, though. His face was like that of a raging bull when he told him to back off Carly. Griffin also wasn't so out of the loop that he hadn't heard how the guy rescued the iCarly goobers from some psychotic fan who claimed they were "angels". He already had an advantage there with being the knight in shining armor of the day. What was her last recollection of Griffin? A boy overly addicted to plush dolls with no masculine side to him whatsoever. That wouldn't score him many points on the Impressed-Carly-O-Meter.

However, it seemed that Carly was warming up to him arriving. And when the Gibby boy stood up to him there was fear in his eyes, always a good sign. If Gibby was afraid Griffin would steal his lady away, then it meant he had a chance. And, really, who would pick that guy over a stud like himself?

Carly came in from the bushes, breathing heavily. He stood straight and held the four (there were two in one spot—double jackpot) traps on his arm. She seemed impressed by the strength he had but also nervous. This dissatisfied Griffin; he wanted her to show her attraction to him, not hide it as though it were embarrassing.

"W-Wow, Grif," she said with her new nickname for him, "th-that's cool."

"I know." he replied simply, "Where's our li'l buddy?" Gibby crashed through the trees then, his face red at being called little. He didn't do anything more than glare at Griffin which made him smirk; he wasn't even man enough to fight him right then and there.

"Hey." Gibby panted, walking up (too close) to Carly. She looked worriedly at him and even placed a hand against his cheek.

"You alright, Gib?" she asked, her hand moving up to his forehead, "Are you feverish?"

"Nah," Gibby responded, "It's just real hot out here…" Still breathing hard, Gibby sat down on a rock nearby and rocked back and forth. Carly shot Griffin a bothered glance which he tried haplessly to mirror. She sat beside the Gibson, her brown eyes wide with concern.

"You need to get back to camp." she said. Gibby stood up at her sentence; he tried to look normal again but his blotchy pink face flushed that attempt down the toilet.

"No," he said firmly, "I'm fine." He used too much needed breath to say this, and ended up bending over in pain. Carly patted his back comfortingly but she looked unwavering in her initial opinion.

"You aren't." she said, "If you stay out here, you could pass out. I won't have it." Plucking her cell phone from her pocket, she commenced dialing her elder brother's number. Griffin had to bite back a smile; with Gibby back at their campground, he'd be alone with Carly for who knows how long. Perhaps enough time to get her to choose him over her other choice. Gibby's face acquired a depressing expression once he heard Carly asking to her brother to come out and get him.

After an hour of wait, Spencer tumbled in. Carly handed Gibby over at once, saying he got overheated and dehydrated. Spencer appeared appalled at the pinkness of the boy's skin but nodded as his baby sister explained he needed water and short clothes and maybe even a sandwich (or two). With an arm around his shoulders to hold him up, Spencer led Gibby away to their camp. Before they left for good, Gibby looked over his shoulder: Griffin had his trap-free arm around Carly's waist. And she wasn't pushing him away.

Before they got out of sight Gibby had to puke, but not from the mild sunstroke.

* * *

"Holy bejeebers, Gib, you get slapped?" Gibby ignored Sam's teasing comment and went inside the RV with Spencer. Freddie, who was keeping an eye on Ayala as she romped about in the open field, sighed at his pal's lack of sensitivity but made no remark. That the better decision because she would've surely smacked him until he was the color of Gibby if he said anything negative to her.

"What do you reckon we do now?" he asked instead. He meant what were they do to now that Ayala was filled up and frolicking about. They decided the mother either abandoned her or died so now Ayala was their "daughter", as he enjoyed calling it. They knew how to feed her but, considering their supply of milk was minute, they needed to stock up. Easier said than done, though, because the nearest supermarket was a good many miles away. They also had no proper sleeping quarters for a fawn. Not to mention Sam was a meat eater. Freddie doubted she would find Ayala tasty but that last time they hunted Bigfoot she was eager to set a rope trap for fresh venison. Still, he worried more about Ayala surviving without sustenance, not ending up between two slices of bread, as cruel as that assumption may be.

"Just hope for the best, I suppose." Sam said, leaning against the vehicle with Freddie. He bobbed his head in agreement. A blush crept onto his cheeks as he went to say something.

"You're really great with her, you know." he complimented, "The way you fed her was so…motherly. I've never seen such a soft side of you."

"Yeah, don't get used to it." she said, "I may be an animal lover but unless you sprout a tail I won't start being nice. In fact, if you did sprout a tail I'd probably mock you more than I do now."

"Thanks for the self-esteem boost." Freddie retorted. Sam smirked at her victorious effort to drive him up the wall. With a flick to his ear to add insult to injury, she skipped into the RV where Gibby was lying on the bed with a moist towel draped over his neck and his shirtless chest sweaty. She wrinkled her nose in disgust and went over to where Spencer was fixing him a sandwich. That reminded her: she hadn't eaten all day.

Realizing she accomplished the astonishing feat of not being hungry, Sam's stomach grumbled. It didn't take her too long to snatch every possible thing to put on bread from the pantry. She grabbed the Wonder Bread and put two slices on a plate. Then she put everything she had found on them: salami, ham, mayo, egg salad, mustard, tuna, pickles, tomatoes, et cetera. After concluding in fixing her heartburn on a plate, she quickly slapped some egg salad on another two pieces of bread for the nub and brought them outside. Spencer was gazing openmouthed at her through the whole ordeal.

"Yikes." he said, shaking his head in wonder. Remarkable how she could devour so much food without gaining any weight. He went back to making Gibby's sandwich when a bleep from his PearPhone informed him Carly was texting him. He opened it up to look at her text, and was frightened at the words it said:

_Help! Grif is hurt!_


	9. It'll Be Okay

**For those of you who read _iSay I Do_, do not worry; I have not forgotten it. I'm in the process of writing chapter twenty-five. My problem is that I'm afraid to part with it. And I have no inspiration. And I'm obsessed with writing Finchel and Beck/Cat oneshots. And I'm so anxious to start my action and/or horror story that I can't even finish a story to publish that. ANYWAY, I'm sorry. By the way, I hope Griffin's injury is not to violent. I tried not to make it so.**

"I-It's gonna b-be okay, Gr-Griffin, it'll be okay…" Carly chanted shakily to the boy. She had feared this would happen. That he would get too careless and something bad would happen. The two had walked awhile after Gibby went back to camp. Carly's mind was jammed with troubled thoughts of his condition; all she wanted was for him to be alright. Griffin had comforted her by putting his free arm around her torso. She didn't protest, though something inside her nagged that Griffin was only doing it to get farther with her. Right then all she cared about was that she needed someone to assure her Gibby would be fine. They discovered another trap after a mile or so, and Griffin again kneeled down to unset it. Carly looked on nervously, her brain still riddled with Gibby.

"Oh, what if he doesn't get better?" she asked herself aloud, "What if he ends up barfing, or going to the hospital?" Griffin—one to be the comforter—had turned his neck to stare at her.

"He'll be _fine_." he said. He enjoyed knowing it was he who was making Carly feel better but he knew she was just overreacting to a small fever and the fact she was thinking of the fatso with him sitting right there was discerning. Carly didn't react to his firmness is the sentence and went about biting her lip and pacing. Griffin went back to unlocking the trap, Carly's worried words still pounding in his head.

"Sunstroke is serious. What if he has it?" Carly continued to say. Griffin rolled his eyes because he knew she couldn't see. It was most likely just that he was a tad overheated and hadn't gotten anything to drink. All he needed was a cool atmosphere and some water and he'd be fine. Carly was not as optimistic about these things unless she saw with her own eyes that what he said was true.

Griffin turned his entire body to face her, his expression impatient. "Carls, he's doing fine. Just some water and he'll be back to his old self." Carly shook her head, not convinced.

"But what if—" she started, but Griffin cut in.

"Carly, chill! He'll be okay!" As he told her Gibby would be alright, he let his arm sag so that it relaxed in its position; its position was on the trap, next to the jagged jaws. In a split-second—not even the blink of an eye—it snapped. Griffin stopped speaking as he heard it echo throughout the forest. The pain traveled from his arm up to his brain. Once it processed, the white-hot fire burned his skin and his vision blurred so that he saw spots. A spine-chilling shriek was yanked from his throat, and Carly spotted it: the red, thick blood oozing from his wound. It dribbled off the edge of his tanned arm, gushing uncontrollably. The jaws only bit the surface of his arm (thank goodness) but it had cut deep enough so that it was like no other pain he'd ever experienced—and he was the one who'd been in numerous motorcycle accidents and gang fights.

Carly had been able to pry the teeth off of him long enough to drag him away. The gash still spurted ruby liquid and the ache still throbbed relentlessly. She'd never been good at this kind of thing; just the mention of blood made the Shay girl ill. But Griffin needed her, so she ripped a piece of her shirt off with the adrenaline of the moment, wrapped it round his injured limb, and texted Spencer. _First Gibby, now Griffin,_ she thought, _What's going on?_

"Hang in there," she whimpered, rubbing his hand to show her support, "it'll be okay, it'll be okay…"

* * *

Freddie pushed firmly on Gibby's chest and the other boy wearily continued to struggle. It was a second after he heard the news that Griffin was hurt. He could really care less about that conniving bad boy—it was Carly that had him worried. If Griffin was hurt, then what had happened to her? Was she hurt too? Or about to be?

Freddie and Sam had come into the bedroom where he laid, tired and sweaty, with a towel around his frame. They wanted to break the news to him in a very calm manner so that he didn't overreact. However, he had, and now Freddie was trying to get him back down. They didn't need another medical disaster.

"Gerrof me!" Gibby cried, seizing the Benson boy's arm and attempting to yank it away. Freddie stayed strong, pushing on Gibby's shoulders so he stayed. Sam was waiting in the doorway; she probably was tougher than Freddie but she was standing near the exit so that if Gibby escaped Freddie and his attempts to pacify him, she'd be the one to once and for all get him back to bed.

"Calm down!" Freddie said, "Carly is fine!" Eventually the tussle grew too much for Gibby's dehydrated body and he surrendered by stopping his movement. Freddie moved away from him, hands still up in case this was a tactic to get him away. Once he found it wasn't, he put his hands down.

Sam glanced out the window: Spencer—who had left the three alone a few minutes before—was nowhere in sight, nor was her best friend or Griffin. She began to get concerned that Carly in fact _was_ hurt too and that was what was causing the delay. _Chill out,_ she told herself, _Don't lose your head. Gibby's already lost his._ To get her mind off the worry, she fixed her eyes on Ayala, who was curled up by the fire pit.

It disturbed her to think that the fawn may not be able to live if they didn't find what they needed. It was obvious she wasn't old enough to graze with the way she sucked up all the milk. If there was some miracle that'd get them milk it'd be the best thing in the entire world. Without it, Sam feared she'd have to witness little Ayala suffer and…she just couldn't do that.

Freddie, relieved he wouldn't have to struggle with Gibby anymore, saw Sam watching Ayala outside. The morose expression her face held told him she was thinking about the fact they might run out of stuff to feed her. Sam rarely ever showed emotion but right then Freddie could see the tears welling up behind the rough exterior she put on. He walked over to her and just stared at her until she stared back. A spark was ignited by their gazes meeting; it was as if they could communicate solely by their expressions. Freddie could tell Sam needed someone to just say "It'll be okay", regardless of whether or not it would be. So he sucked up years of hatred and resentment to give her a hug and say "It'll be okay, Sam."

Sam was grateful for the embrace and hugged him back, letting her nose bury into the warmth of his chest. The awkwardness of the morning and the fight of the afternoon were long forgotten in that moment because Sam needed this hug, and she didn't care if her enemy was the one delivering it. She allowed his closeness and his touch and his voice telling her words of security. She was just thankful it wasn't Gibby's moist chest she was hiding her face in—yuck.

* * *

Spencer gasped involuntarily at the sight of Griffin lying on the dirt, his good hand squeezing the wound as to stop the bleeding, and his little sister crouching beside him. He felt as if he was seeing an even younger Carly there, terrified of the monsters in her closet. All of a sudden she was so much more fragile. It killed him inside.

He walked over to the two, quietly and calmly, and stood over the injured male. Carly looked up at him and her breath caught in her throat; she willed herself not to cry. Spencer sensed the fear in her and—not saying a word—bent down to pick Griffin up. He moaned and clutched his arm tighter, making Carly bite down hard on her cheek. Spencer shifted Griffin so that he would feel more comfortable. Sadly, it didn't help, and it wouldn't.

"I…I don't…" Griffin whispered, "I don't wanna—"

"Shh," Spencer said, "Quiet. It'll lessen the pain." Griffin silenced at this notion for he wanted the pain to disperse but Spencer had no clue if shutting up would reduce the throbbing ache. He just didn't want the kid scaring Carly with his plea:

_I don't wanna die._

* * *

The cool sensation of water in his mouth refreshed Gibby immensely, and he thirstily sucked up the entire bottle. Staying inside had reduced the feeling of heat and now he was working on hydrating himself. He was still too bushed to stand but he was more in need of a nap than medical assistance. Sam and Freddie were elsewhere—probably tending to Ayala or something—and he was appreciative that they had left him alone. It wasn't a personal thing; he just preferred to spend his Carly- and Griffin-free time thinking rather than watch the pair have a tender moment with hugs. He wouldn't be surprised (okay, maybe he'd be surprised _a little_—it _is_ Sam and Freddie we're talking about) if they started kissing. Speaking of kissing, he hoped Carly and bad boy "Grif" weren't doing anything too amorous before whatever accident happened to him.

So what if Gibby was totally missing that the kid was hurt in his mind-rant on him and Carly? That jerk had it coming to him. Well…maybe not. But he did deserve _some_ punishment for butting in and messing up Gibby's love life.

The thing that bugged him was that Carly didn't care that Griffin just popped out of nowhere and was going all Casanova on the joint. She seemed nervous about it at first but her attraction to him hadn't wavered, and now they had enough alone time to admit they shouldn't have broken up and that they should give it another chance and all that corny, '80s chick-flick drivel. He never did enjoy _The Breakfast Club_—girly girl and bad boy got together. He enjoyed _Ferris Bueller's Day Off_ much more because Ferris was kind of a dork but he got a smoking girlfriend. Why couldn't it be real—why couldn't the loser-ish guys like himself get the girls?

Meanwhile, Freddie was outside, climbing up the nearest tree. Spencer had notified him and the rest of the gang that someone needed to check the cameras sometime over the course of twenty-four hours to see if anything crawled by when they were out of sight. Freddie guessed nothing would appear on the film, save some birds and rodents. A beavecoon wouldn't be there nor would it be anywhere but Spencer's diseased imagination.

"Don't fall on your butt, okay?" Sam taunted from below, a smirk visible on her lips. Even though Freddie's stab at easing her was only a few minutes ago, she'd resolved to her original behavior. He was happy she was normal but he liked not being talked to as if he had the IQ of a peanut.

"Ha ha, you're so very comedic." he retorted. She rolled her eyes at his sarcasm though she loved it; his being sarcastic put a whole new spin on her set of insults. Sometimes he'd sigh, others he'd roll his eyes, or blush, or even lash back. She strategically planned her mocks so that she'd get certain reactions because somehow she knew what'd make him do what. It was almost like the next level of chess and other mind games; trouble was Freddie didn't know, and it'd be highly embarrassing for him to know she sort of obsessed over the mind game that involved their fights. It may give him the…wrong idea.

Freddie crawled over to the camera perched on the unsteady branch and flipped it open. The battery was on red so he knew he'd have to take it down and find a cordless charger. Thankfully Spencer had opted for the more luxurious line of RVs, meaning there was some electricity. Good, because he didn't want to eat unrefrigerated food.

After flipping through the film to find absolutely nothing of interest on it, he loosened the rope's hold on it and carefully made his way down, video cam in hand. Once landing on the ground he handed the camera to Sam, who gave it a look of fascination.

She saw that it was low on battery too but the irresistible crave to film overcame her. She pressed the RECORD button and it beeped to signal it was on. Freddie noticed the sound and turned to find the camera on him. He raised his hands to cover his face; as much as he adored being a cameraman, he abhorred being in front. He got dreadfully nervous and would begin to perspire; he'd seen Sam's detestation at being in a room with Gibby when he had sweat all over, and he didn't want that detestation transmitted to him—even though she already didn't like him that much.

"No, please, Sam," he said, "I don't like this—"

"Lighten up, Freddichino." she said, continuing to press that camera to his face. He shoved it farther away, not caring how much of Sam's fun he was spoiling. Sam, however, held firm and didn't pull away. Eventually he found it was a luckless attempt and just ignored the flashing red light signaling it was recording to climb up the tree.

She followed his face up the tree and onto the branch, careful to get every angle possible. Freddie was always so spectacular at filming and she wanted to prove she too could be a good camerawoman. She hadn't realized how difficult it was. Or how pointless. Freddie scrambling down the branch to reach a camera wasn't making it into an action film anytime soon.

"Dude, you're very boring." she said. Freddie held back and eye roll (changing the course of Sam's mind game) and carried on getting the camera. Sam sighed at the futility of the entire recording when she remembered her commentary earlier in the day. If she could commentate on being an Olympic swimmer, why couldn't she commentate on Freddie?

"Fredward K. Benson stealthily approaches the equipment," she said in an almost whisper, much like nature show narrators, "The fifteen-year-old naturalist has been one with the animal world for a few years now, having abandoned his family and Seattle city-life for the great outdoors—"

"Not the commentary." Freddie sighed. Sam smiled between her words for the very fact this irritated him made it all the more fun.

"Fredward has told us that he would prefer our intense quiet so as not to interrupt his watching the film for signs of life." she continued, "He is looking for the famed beavecoon, an abnormal creature that is simply put as the possible spawn of a raccoon and beaver. It is unknown if such an animal does exist but Fredward has made it his priority to find out." Freddie let out what resembled a low growl; Sam's annoying treatise was messing with his patience, which was starting to become short-lived with the prospect of Griffin and Carly being injured, Gibby's overreaction to the news, Ayala's situation, and now Sam's voice invading his ears with jargon.

He crawled along the wooden limb to get over to the camera. Upon reaching it, he began looking through the footage. Sam's voice from below still rambled with hogwash about looking over the film for "a sign of life". He tried to block out the senseless speech to watch there be nothing on the tape. However, as it played the film, he could spot…something. It showed everyone asleep that one night (Sam and him snuggling were in the far left-hand corner). A tiny blob of black against the gray waddled into the campsite. Surrounded by leaves that hung from the trees, the creature was hard to make out but he knew it couldn't be human. It was some unidentifiable critter crawling around. Soon it disappeared back into the bushes bordering the camp, and nothing else was seen.

"Sam…" he whispered, shock conquering him.

"Young Fredward has just looked over the footage of the past day and night," Sam said, "He will now reveal to us if he has spotted anything worthy to show. Will he have seen—"

"Sam!" Freddie shouted, "Shut up!" Instantly she stopped her talking; not once had Freddie so bluntly yelled at her with any hint of anger. She would admire it later but now she was irate at his interrupting her.

"What, Freducation?" she asked, "I was in the middle of—"

"Forget the stupid commentary!" he yelled, "I think I saw a beavecoon on here!"

***Gasp!* Will Griffin survive? Will Gibby get the girl? Will Ayala find sustenance? Will Spencer find the infamous beavecoon? All shall be answered in the next installment of (scary music) _iHunt The Beavecoon_!**


	10. Believe

Sam's first instinct was to laugh in his face at the ludicrous idea. However, it seemed that he was speaking the truth for the fear and shock in his expression was too powerful to be faked. Still, a beavecoon didn't exist and saying he saw it was absurd. Perhaps it was the dread that he truly saw such a creature that caused her to scoff when she knew he wasn't lying; denial was always her best defense mechanism.

"Oh, you did?" she said, "Alright, you saw the beavecoon and I'm Ellen DeGeneres' hairstylist. Seriously, dude…"

"Sam, I'm not kidding!" he shouted, climbing down quickly from the branch. "This is important chiz! Look!" He shoved the camcorder into her face, hoping that once she saw the footage she'd believe. He knew he sounded like a mental patient but he was afraid that Spencer wasn't just an insane man—that he really did see a mixed mammal when he was a teenager, and that something so illogical in reality existed. Sam took the camera from his hands and clicked on the tape. He peeked over her shoulder as it progressed. Nothing passed in front of the camcorder's vision for awhile until the teeny black blob he had spotted again shuffled into sight.

Of course it was then that the battery died.

Freddie muttered a string of curse words and tore the camera from the blonde's hands, shaking it around as though it'd wake up. "Darn camcorder, work!" he yelled at it. Sam grew somewhat fearful of his behavior; he was acting far less composed than he normally did, and if _Freddie_ went mad then nothing would ever be the same again.

He furiously dropped the camera on the ground, making Sam gasp. He was so angry he didn't even care that he almost destroyed one of his precious pieces of technology. Technology was to Freddie like meat was to Sam—yeah, it was _that_ vital.

Sam decided she needed to calm him before he did something he'd regret. Quickly, she wrapped an arm around his neck and the other was on his far shoulder. They were almost hugging but the closeness wasn't awkward like it'd usually be.

"Calm the frick down, Fredbag." she said, "Just stop and, you know, take a breather or something." Freddie, surprisingly, did exactly as she instructed: he took a slow, deep breath and then he started to become collected again.

"Sorry," he mumbled, "It's just…Sam, what if Spencer didn't make it up? That this…_thing_ is real? If it is, maybe Bigfoot, and the Chupacabra, and the Loch Ness Monster, and all those other creepy animals are real too. It'd totally disrupt my view of the Earth." Sam understood his terror; she also learned of all those sinister stories about real-life monsters. If they turned out not to be myths, then everything she believed would be shattered and she'd resort to living in fear. Suddenly, their camp seemed so suffocating and horrifying.

"We have to tell Spencer." Freddie said, breaking away from Sam's grip. She gazed open-mouthed at him, and she was positive his brain took a yearlong vacation. Tell the man who was obsessing over this critter that they may've possibly spotted it? If they did, Spence would forget everything around him and focus on finding it. And when Griffin was apparently wounded, that'd be worst-case scenario.

"No!" Sam yelled, "Are you a moron? If we tell him, he'll go all wacko again!" Freddie knew she was right but he didn't think it was fair to keep the very thing Spencer came to this campsite for away from him.

"How can we just _not_ tell him?" he asked.

"Easy," Sam said, "You keep your trap shut and I'll keep mine. Problem solved, Freddichino." Freddie went to argue when he noticed people out of the corner of his eye. His heart dropped at the sickening sight of Griffin cradled in Spencer's arms, bleeding, with a petrified Carly trudging behind. Sam turned when his brown gaze looked away from her, and she gasped. Spencer ignored them completely as he made his way into the RV. Carly spotted her friends and, without a word, came over and started crying. Sam wordlessly hugged her. Freddie stood behind Sam and wrapped his arms around her, slightly hugging Carly too. The group hug was welcomed by the fragile brunette, who continued weeping into her friends' loving arms.

* * *

Gibby's eyes opened at the ruckus entering the bedroom. Spencer walked in, a morose guise to him, carrying some bundle. When Gibby found it was the shape of a human, and that redness was seeping through a cloth on its arm, he had to stop staring. The man went to the right side of the bed and laid the wounded boy down.

"I'll go find the first aid kit." he said, walking out. Gibby dared a glance at Griffin: his bloodied arm was next to him. He recognized the material around it to be that of Carly's top. She must've ripped a portion of it off to stop his bleeding. _She's so fearless that way,_ Gibby thought. Continuing to analyze Griffin's lesion, he could see that the cloth was sticking to his skin. Griffin was breathing in short breaths.

"Should I…uh, loosen that?" Gibby offered, nodding to the fabric. Griffin bobbed his head in response.

"Yes, please." he whispered, "It burns." Gibby used gentle movements to tear the cloth away. He sensed bile rising in his throat as he inspected the wound without something over it; the skin was torn away so that he could see ripped flesh hanging off. The blood had stopped flowing but there was still a lot lingering. It gave the appearance of being bitten and shredded by some kind of beast. It wasn't as gruesome as Gibby expected with all the blood but it was still grisly enough to make him retch.

"B-Better?" he stammered, twisting his head away so as not to vomit up the water and sandwich. Griffin said that it was, and silence fell over the two. They could hear Spencer looking around for bandages and medicine while jumbled words came from outside. He could heed Carly's wracked sobs from the window along with Sam and Freddie speaking words of wellbeing. It made him angrier at Griffin for causing such pain in her heart. Hey, he couldn't help it. He never liked the guy anyway; sure, he felt guilty thinking badly of him when he was in that state but it was a testosterone thing.

"So, what's been up here?" Gibby spun his head around to see Griffin looking at his direction but not necessarily at _him_—his eyes were scarily vacant.

"Um, well, Sam n' Freddie found a baby deer," he said, "Ayala." Griffin nodded with a grin.

"I have a Pee-Wee Baby deer—Dina the Deer. She's so cute…" Gibby repressed the yearning to roll his eyes. Seriously, if Carly picked Griffin over him, he might have to kill himself.

The would-be discussion died when Gibby's ennui with the topic was identified by Griffin. The boys became quiet; their breaths were the only noise in the room, and the awkwardness made them cut like razorblades. Gibby focused his ears on whatever sound he could muster from outside with the rest. A few scuffles and gibberish words, but nothing of interest. He shifted, and it felt as though millions of eyes were on him. _Find the first aid quick, Spencer,_ he pleaded.

* * *

Freddie leaned against the RV, his stare on Carly. She had stopped crying for the most part, but her face was still blotchy and pink. Sam sat, cross-legged, beside her on the grass, an arm holding her steady. He hated to see how panicky Carly was and how glum Sam appeared at having Carly upset. He had since accustomed to manhood and, as his father would say to him in his living days, "Men do not cry—especially Benson men." He had remembered his father's words and thus refused to cry at the funeral years later, which prompted his mother to make him see a shrink for the trauma of the death (Dr. McGregor concluded Freddie was mentally okay, but encouraged Mrs. Benson to come by once a week). He barely cried after that, though he did have his moments. Now was not powerful enough to evoke tears from his eyes—the shock stunned him to the point of speechlessness over sobs. Sam too didn't cry, but her face was pale and just grew whiter with each passing second. Freddie wanted to comfort her, along with Carly, but he stayed back, knowing it'd be more intelligent not to.

"It'll be okay, Carls." Sam said for the umpteenth time, patting Carly, "Griffin is strong, kiddo. He won't be like this in a day or so."

"But, Sam," Carly whispered hoarsely, "did you see him? He's so…broken." Sam said nothing more and Freddie didn't change his mind either. As newfound wetness invaded Carly's eyes, he walked into the RV to look for Spencer.

The door to the bedroom containing the injured boys was shut, something Freddie inwardly thanked Spencer for. He glanced around the small space in search of Spencer, and found him digging around in an industrial size first-aid kit. He was surprised Spencer even remembered Freddie's mom gave him that, but at the time he was just thankful God granted her the gift of paranoia.

As he assessed the environment of the RV, he noticed all the pantry doors open and boxes lying down, their contents spilling out. They also scattered the floor, something Freddie didn't see until his foot squished on the peanut butter that was in a cracked jar. Quickly sidestepping from it, he growled but was relieved it was not the glass shard his shoe made contact with.

"Spencer, what's with the mess?" he asked, "The kit wasn't that hard to find, I think."

"Yeah…I forgot." Spencer responded, and Freddie rolled his eyes. When the man did not reply to his expression of frustration, Freddie cautiously walked over and peered over into the kit. The stench of antiseptic wafted up his nose; it made him gag, something weird, for his house reeked of this, ultimately making him resistant to the smell. Perhaps being away from it for two days had dulled his senses.

Realizing he'd never spent so many hours away from his mother before, Freddie reflexively looked out the window. Night, he realized, was upon them again; the sun was slowly descending, and the moon slowly ascending. So much had occurred in the time they'd spent: Sam and he had had an awkward interaction; they'd gone swimming, where Sam's crazy imagination burst through; Spencer started his expedition; Carly and Gibby ventured out to save woodland creatures; Griffin had gotten injured; and now he swore the beavecoon was something real.

Or maybe not. It was difficult to grasp that such a creature did, in fact, exist in the living, breathing flesh, and not just in the brain of Spencer, which was often riddled with preposterous fantasies and imagery. He wanted to believe, and yet didn't. Before he could believe in this, he had to choose if he wanted to. It wasn't that hard to trick himself into thinking something was real and something else fictional. How else could he have a religion if he could not choose one belief over another? How else could he have opinions on a subject? Life was made up of beliefs, ideas, and opinions. One couldn't be so wishy-washy that they trusted and believed all things thrown their way.

For Freddie, another key factor in believing was seeing. Even though he trusted God existed and, at a time, Santa Claus without meeting them face-to-face, such a kid as him—who was fascinated by science—needed a lot of times to _see_ an object in motion to trust it existed. It was absurd, he knew, as the idea grazed his gray matter but it was decided in his heart what he would do. This night, when darkness enveloped the campsite and the campers within were in slumber, he would creep out of his sleeping bag and watch over the site. He would search, and quite possibly discover, whatever lay waiting behind the bushes, and his mental walls.

* * *

It was when Sam was just patting Carly's back again and Freddie just reaching for a roll of cloth bandages in the side part of the kit that a yelp tore through the saddened silence of the camp. At once they all jumped from their spots, forgetting everything, and stood staring into space. Another yelp, and a grunt, followed the first, and they realized the bedroom was where such noises came from. Instantly Sam recognized these sounds as the sound of battle; pained exclamations hidden behind clenched teeth were easily detected by her ears, after being in the center of many. But it was outlandish! How could two sickly boys start a fight less than a half hour after getting situated?

Apparently, it was happening, whether or not it appeared possible. The girls entered the room seconds after Spencer opened the door to find Griffin slung over the edge of the bed, his wounded arm limply hanging off his body as his legs desperately clung to the sheets. Gibby, his chest heaving, lunged towards the skinnier boy, who attempted to crawl away from his attacker unsuccessfully. Gibby caught one leg and flipped him over, knocking Griffin's head against the ground with a _thud_ that made even Sam queasy. Getting atop him, Gibby delivered a blow to Griffin's face, and his opponent obliged by quickly wrapping one leg around the other boy's, distracting him long enough for Griffin to punch his face equally as hard, if not harder. Then the two, on their knees, gave out hits and received painful ones until Carly screeched in utter abhorrence. Having heard the object of both their affections scream, they ceased fighting, their heads turned her way. Gibby's color washed away, while Griffin face held no emotion or guilt; just the swollen lower lip that was bleeding.

"How…what…who…" Carly stammered, eyes wide as dinner platters. Sam, Freddie, and Spencer awaited her words in curiosity, while Griffin's and Gibby's minds whirred for a reasonable explanation to the display of hatred they just showed. Eventually, Carly settled on a single-word question: "Why?"

And so the boys delivered the reasoning behind this fight, each with their own versions: Griffin spoke of how they'd been calmly talking, when Gibby—completely unprovoked—started attacking him in his wounded state to the point he _had_ to fight back, or risk expanding the injury to other places. Gibby, of course, refused to admit this as truth, and said they were talking when Griffin _verbally_ assaulted him, and Gibby shoved him to shut him up, but ended up with Griffin's temper being lashed out so maliciously that Gibby was sucked into a fight, fists and kicks and all. Carly wasn't sure who to believe, or if either could be believed; Gibby was the sweetest boy she'd ever met, and usually he had a flight response in pressure situations, his voice raising to an octave higher than usual. Yes, there was an incident where jealous rage consumed so that he wanted to fight Freddie, but the fight was organized, so how could she be sure Gibby really would've fought, or chickened out? And Griffin—he was no preacher's son by far. But his temper was relatively nonexistent, instead him resulting to a frenzied panic, like when the old man sat on his Pee-Wee Baby during the big heat wave; even when the "Potsie" nickname was given, Griffin remained panicky, but not angry. However, the matter then was Pee-Wee Babies—what was it this time?

"Carly…" Gibby stood up from his knees as well as he could; his naked chest glistened with sweat attained from the scuffle, and there was a blackish ring already forming on his left eye, a sign of an ugly black eye taking rest there. Watching him talk with such an expression further nauseated and upset Carly. "I am so, so sorry. I…I don't know what happened, really. I didn't want to hurt you. I swear." Carly simply stared back at him, a lump showing in her throat. Tears sprung to her ears; she couldn't face Gibby or Griffin, or even Freddie, Spencer, and Sam. They weren't supposed to come here for heartbreak; they were coming for a stupid animal at Spencer's command. And, what ho, her idiot brother managed to leave her in shambles—again.

Carly, like Gibby, used the flight response for tough situations. And so she fled the scene of the crime, leaving Griffin angered, her brother and friends stunned, and Gibby merely ashamed.


	11. Searching

**Okay, so **_**iStart A Fan War **_**may be the best **_**iCarly**_** movie yet. I was shocked they said Seddie and Creddie on the television, since only big super-fans know what that means, and now everyone else will. I want Freddie to choose Sam (um, **_**duh**_**) and if he doesn't, I'll be angry. I may boycott **_**iCarly**_**. But probably not. Anyway, I want the Seddie and Creddie to be played out well and believably so new fans who suddenly realize Seddie go "Huh…I never noticed how well they go together." and not "**_**What**_**? How do they suddenly like each other!" And, since this film is marking **_**iCarly**_**'s last season (seriously, when Freddie chooses is when it's over), I hope there'll be a large amount of episodes after this movie and not have it be the last episode. And if Freddie chooses Carly, I'm determined not to give up hope, because I just **_**know**_** Seddie is inevitable. Don't stop…believin'…oh, I really should not start singing on here. Also, as Seddiemania said, I don't it to be a reincarnation of **_**iBeat the **_**Heat—remember? It was all hype but there was no Seddie, or at least not the kind we all expected. I hope it's not an opportunity to see how crazy we all get (because we all get crazy when we're excited, especially about this stuff) and that it really is something. I think we all agree we want real Seddie/Creddie action, and not hyped-up junk. Well, I just realized this A/N is ridiculously long so I'll just let you read. (Oh, and I don't know the actual date, just November, but it may premiere the same day as that Harry Potter movie, which would be awesome if I got Harry and Seddie on the same day. November 19****th****, I think, but don't believe me, because I'm unsure)**

Ayala's bays knocked Sam out of her trance. The deer nuzzled her snout against Sam's pants leg when she ran outside, and Sam returned the gesture by patting Ayala softly on the head. Carly was still in her mind, but she was so determined not to think about it that she blocked out any sound around her to give her whole attention to this hungry fawn.

Of course, the largeness of this situation caused it not to be forgotten easily. The blonde's eyes wandered to the bushes where Carly had to have ran through to get away. Carly could be, well, stupid in her actions when a great deal of stress was on her. Sam could only sit back and watch the scene unfold, as if it were a _90210_ rerun on her clunky TV set. She never pegged Gibby as the aggressive type, and especially not one to begin fights. Or was it Griffin who started it? Either way, both were involved in the brutal skirmish, and both had wounds to prove it. Gibby received a black eye, Griffin a swollen and bloody lip, and then multiple bruises and scratches for each. Automatically Sam felt sorry for Griffin—the kid already got attacked by the worst set of jaws, and then got into a fistfight. And over _what_? Neither offered a clear reason for the fight. At least when Sam fought people she knew why.

Boys could be so idiotic.

Inside the RV, Spencer and Freddie separated the boys; Griffin to the bed, and Gibby to the kitchen. Spencer shut the bedroom door to further segregate them, and then turned to this kid. Griffin clumsily hoisted himself up and onto the bed, where his unharmed hand stroked his busted lip. The man's eyes traveled to Griffin's arm; it didn't look much better since the first time he saw it, but the blood stopped flowing and the remaining amount started to harden.

Spencer never trusted Griffin. Their relationship was rocky; at first he was upset at him stealing his motorcycle, but then blamed it on average teenage boy-ness. After "taking him under his wing", Griffin got involved with Carly, something that frightened Spencer. A kid like Griffin was okay, but as his little sister's boyfriend? Absolutely not. But Carly appeared to like Griffin _a lot_, so he loosened the reins. Somehow, without his help, Carly broke up with Griffin, and since then Spencer never saw the boy. Carly may've spotted him sometime after, but Spencer never laid eyes on the rebel again until he got bitten by one of his own traps. This realization unsettled Spencer; in his frenzy to catch a beavecoon, he used every method and it resulted in Griffin getting seriously injured.

"I…" Spencer stammered, catching Griffin's attention, "I…I'm…I'm sorry." Griffin looked perplexed.

"Huh?" he asked.

"I'm sorry I got you hurt," Spencer continued, "I set up that trap, and you tried to get rid of it, and got hurt. I'm really sorry." Griffin continued to stare, until a smile came upon his lips.

"It's cool, dude." he said, and Spencer, pure of guilt, grinned back. But inside, Griffin didn't smile. Spencer's apology reminded him that he and Carly had left the traps out there in the wilderness, all in a crude pile of metal fangs. _Oh, well,_ he thought, _They won't hurt anybody…_

_

* * *

_

"I'm telling you, Freddie," Gibby hissed, "that guy started it!" Freddie felt a shudder of fear go through him; he'd never seen Gibby so menacing. Imagine—happy-go-lucky Gibby rabid with hatred.

"Gib, don't think I don't believe you." Freddie responded earnestly, hand upon his heart, "I've met him before. All leather and attitude…I hated him from day one." Gibby seemed to simmer down at this, and deposited himself in a chair. Immediately when Spencer shut the door, Gibby launched into an angry speech of why Griffin was the bad kid. The cuss words flew and the vein in his forehead throbbed relentlessly—Freddie, dumbstruck, had tried to stutter out that he should calm down, but it only angered Gibby further.

"Yeah, but you were in love with Carly then," Gibby said, "Of _course_ you'd hate any threat." Freddie nodded, for Gibby was right. Still, despite his old affections for Carly, Griffin continued to make bile rise in his throat with his arrogant swagger and worldly behavior. Now, since his crush on Carly was starting to lessen, it seemed that hatred transferred to Gibby, who even fought Griffin. This sparked something in Freddie's brain. _What if…?_ he thought.

"Hey, Gibby?" he asked, and Gibby looked to him, "You don't…you don't _like_ Carly, do you? Like, like-like?" Gibby's face reddened, a sure sign Freddie was right. Reluctantly, he allowed himself to smile. Gibby loving Carly…hoo boy, was that funny!

"W-Well…" Gibby said, "A…a little…" Freddie chuckled and patted his embarrassed friend on his bare back, causing Gibby to cool a bit. As Freddie began to speak, a whir of yellow burst through the door, and two dots of blue from under it stared at him.

"Yo, Benson!" Sam said, "C'mere, I need a favor." Freddie rose one eyebrow in question.

"What is it?" he asked.

"Just c'mere!" Sam waved for him to go outside. "Now, or I'll drag you out." With that she disappeared, counting down the seconds until she would return and grab him by the ears. Freddie shrugged, waved goodbye to Gibby, and went for the door.

"If she kills you, can I have your laptop?" Gibby called after him, half-jokingly. Freddie didn't respond.

Sam was waiting for him, arms folded, and Ayala was at her side, peering up at him as Sam too did. It was funny the why they both were awaiting him in similar stances, but he didn't laugh, because Sam looked a little ticked off.

"You rang?" Freddie kidded, mirroring Sam's folded arms. She glared at the mocking tone in his voice but he did not cower or apologize. Secretly she put this reaction in her mind game folder.

"Listen," she said, "Ayala's hungry. We have to go and get her milk." Freddie appeared interested and a bit surprised—mostly because of the use of the word "we".

"Why do _I_ have to go?" he asked. Sam bit her lower lip in frustration, and Freddie couldn't deny the sort of prettiness about it.

"Dude, why you gotta question _everything_?" she said, "I saw a park ranger building nearby, and I'm sure they'd let us borrow a car, and if not we'll borrow one anyway. So just come, alright?" Freddie wanted to—he really did—but he wasn't sure how soon they'd get back, and if they didn't by nightfall, his plan to spy over the campsite would be null and void. He didn't want to risk something as important as this for a ride to the nearest supermarket.

"I can't." Freddie said, "Sorry, but there's stuff to do here. You can just take Gibby, okay?" With that said, he turned to enter the RV, but Sam's voice stopped him in his very tracks.

"C'mon, Benson I need…" Her voice trailed off, but Freddie couldn't shake the last two words. He could feel in his veins what she was going to say, and he needed her to confirm it. Slowly he turned to face her and asked, "You need what?" Again Sam chewed on her lip until she let out a strangled sigh.

"I need you." she blurted out, "You're the best guy to go out alone in the dark with. Other than Griffin, but I don't trust him. Besides, Ayala likes you more than me! If you're there, she'll be more comfortable and…I just don't wanna go alone." Sam's eyes started to get wet, but she restrained the tears. Despite her dislike towards him, she still trusted Freddie more than anyone else at the camp. Spencer was irresponsible, Gibby was too dimwitted, and Griffin was so bad boy it unnerved her to be alone with him. And most of all, Freddie was her closet friend when Carly wasn't present. She actually kind of _enjoyed_ his company.

Freddie was stunned, but—in spite of his gut instinct telling him to—he had to ignore this proclamation if he was to catch a supposed creature. Sam normally wasn't so pleading, and this rare moment was one he wanted to relish in, to use to his advantage, but he just couldn't.

"Well, uh, thanks…" Freddie replied, a smirk and blush simultaneously on his face, "I wanna go, Sam…but I have to stay. I…I need to help Spencer with…things." Sam didn't say a thing after this, so Freddie went inside the RV. All at once Sam internally burst, and anger flooded through her voice as she yelled:

"Fine! I'll go with Gibby, then! Yeah, just sit your butt down to do 'stuff', and we'll be out actually doing something worthwhile!" When Freddie didn't say anything or appear in sight, she yelled again, this time her voice shriller: "_Gibby_! Get out here! Get your fat butt out here _now_!" At the threatening command of Sam's, Gibby willingly hurled himself outside, looking fearful. Regardless of the pain he must've been in concerning his previous brawl, Sam grabbed his hand in hers and yanked him away, Ayala trotting placidly behind.

"W-W-Where're you t-taking me?" Gibby asked.

"Shut up and walk faster!" was all Sam said, and Gibby, a whimper in his throat, followed with the fawn at his heels.

Freddie stood back in the doorframe, smirking. As he watched Sam walk off with a terrified Gibby, he could feel an air of arrogance surround him that she wanted him to come so badly she let her temper fly when he refused. Maybe it was bad to feel happy that he could anger her, but at the moment he could only laugh at and pray for Gibby.

* * *

From under the tree, shrouded by shadows of the night, Carly massaged her sore foot. Both feet had collected their fair share of blisters from the long run in flip-flops. Though she tried not to, one tear squeezed through her eye, and then more followed the scout. With one arm wrapped around the trunk of the tree, she used the other to hold her head as her eyes flowed with teardrops. Oh, why had life handed her this unkind card? Love was never an easy thing to pass, like History or English. No, love was a maze of mathematics, dishing out problems with such complicated delivery that you know you won't finish the test in time. For Carly, she opted to be a love school dropout.

Once she was able to stem her sobs, the unfamiliarity of her spot began to sink in, and so did alarm. In her blind rush of anguish she had ran as far as her tattered red sandals could carry her, and in the heat of the moment she didn't realize just how far she was capable of going. Now, resting beneath this tree, she saw her surroundings as inauspicious and curled into a ball, timidly shaking.

Now her stupidity and feebleness had banished her to a lonely existence beneath this tree, away from her friends and her family. If only Griffin hadn't gone camping when they did—then this horrible ordeal may've been avoided. But Carly knew she couldn't pin this rap on Griffin; though she didn't want to, she had to believe the reason she was in this fix was because she was too scared to confront her fears. Like every moment in her life that awarded any stress, she would run away from it, sometimes after blaming someone else and even, to their face, wronging them for her faults. It was a flaw she loathed but couldn't rid herself of, like Sam's tendency to deny problems inside her by beating up verbally, emotionally, and physically on people she didn't like very much. _There I go again_, Carly morosely thought, _Thinking about other people's flaws instead of my own. Maybe it was a good thing I got lost here—now nobody will have to deal with me._ That sad perception thought, Carly sprawled out on the forest floor and slept, with no happy dreaming to ease her.

* * *

"We need to find her," Griffin rasped, "Who knows where—ouch, too tight!—she went off to?"

"Sorry," Spencer said, unraveling the bandage he was fixing on the boy's arm, and then rewrapping it in a gentler fashion. "Yeah, I know we need to find Carly, but I just don't know how. Sam and Gibby ran off and Freddie claims he has 'stuff to do' and you're hurt…I dunno what to do."

"Dude," Griffin eased himself into a sitting position, though Spencer told him not to. Being the laidback person he was, Spencer ignored this and continued cleansing the wound of crusty blood. "Let _me_ go. I'm not hurt that much no more. Seriously, I'm tough. I can handle it." Spencer surveyed Griffin's condition; yes, he was able to go normally, but now that Gibby and he had battled with fists and fury, there was bound to be bruises and sores settling in his flesh to pop up later. He didn't want to risk losing _two_ teenagers…and another thing: when Griffin was half of the reason Carly ran away, why would he ship him off to retrieve her? Spencer might've been an idiot, but he wasn't stupid.

"No, you need to stay here." Spencer said, pushing Griffin to lie down. Reluctantly, he did, but not without a roll of his eyes. "If anyone goes out to find her, it should be me. Or Sam, but Sam isn't here so—" Spencer had finished bandaging and cleaning Griffin's injury, and as he spoke he noticed Griffin refusing to listen, so he cut himself off and left. "Um, you stay here and…if you need anything, there's, like, stuff in the kitchen…uh, bye." He closed the door.

Griffin stayed still in bed, but his lips moved as he whispered a sixty-second countdown. When he finished, he would get out of this bed and go after Carly, for Spencer would surely have left by then and Freddie would be gone too. He'd apologize to her upon finding her, and he'd comfort her until she fully forgave him, and then they'd return to camp to stay by each other, for if his plan went accordingly, Carly would be his. He wouldn't fail this time.


	12. Conflicted Heart Pangs

**I've been uploading this story a lot more often than I had previously, I've noticed. Not that that's a bad thing, I guess. I'm just hoping these quick updates don't lack any substance as they come up quicker. If they start, please make sure to tell me and advise me as to what I need to do. Thanks; constructive criticism is always helpful.**

Sam's ire hadn't dissolved when Freddie was gone; she remained touchy and dangerous all the way down the trail to the park ranger station, and inside too, as she demanded a truck and the rangers tossed her a set of keys, if only to subdue her. In the rusty pickup she continued her furious streak, shoving Gibby into the passenger seat (but keeping Ayala comfortably close by). Gibby, quite frankly, feared for his safety. He'd experienced Sam's wrath in other forms, like his underwear being hoisted out of his pants and his face getting a hard slap. There was no proof her fury at Freddie wouldn't be transmitted to him, the only available punching bag. It upset him that, even when it was another she was angered with, he got the worst of the worst. Somehow, Freddie enjoyed this brutal slaying day after day, or at least was immune to it. Gibby received much pain at Sam's hand, but it was Freddie who endured the most—but, simultaneously, the least.

As Gibby thought of Freddie, so did Sam, but not as calmly. The sight of his smug face grinning back at her boiled her blood; whenever he felt brave, Freddie would become arrogant towards Sam, sticking up for himself in ghastly ways that angered Sam but also…enthralled her. Admittedly, she liked it when the dork would stand up for himself; rare though it was, his teases replying to hers made her inwardly smile. In the back of her mind, she knew insults with no spite constituted as flirts. She didn't want this thought to be formed, for she didn't want to believe she liked Freddie. As this morsel of brain-food tried to wedge in, she merely replayed the recent conversation with him, and at once it was pushed back and she continued to fume.

"You know where we're going, right?" Gibby asked nervously, afraid he may set off the beast within her. Sam's fierce blue eyes were tinted red as she glowered at him, but her mouth made no attempt to hurt him, excluding the snappish tone used.

"No, Gibson, I _don't_." she spat, eyes going back to the road, "Check the glove department, maybe there's a map." Gibby followed this order, clicking open the glove department. Apparently others who rented the car from the park ranger station decided to store some things in the truck, and forgot to retrieve them: Kleenex, CDs, fast-food receipts, brochures, fishing lures, Band-aids, and some personal items flooded into his lap, a heap of unorganized junk. Sam groaned, as though this was an act of his own foolishness. He silently sifted through the mess that lay in his lap, careful to avoid used tissues that appeared to have more than snot on them. He got distracted once by a Justin Bieber CD, his mind floating to ambitions for the future, but a flick of Sam's index finger and thumb helped him to focus. Eventually he had seen every inch of the pile and…nothing.

"_Inside_ the glove department," Sam said, "There's chiz in there too." Unfortunately, Sam was not wrong; and so Gibby went through the filth of past riders, feeling fascination for some (he wished he could just look through the mound for attractive trinkets), until he came across a road map coated with potato chip stains that made his stomach rumble. He smoothed it out on the window, and then opened it up to observe. The winding red lines and badges of interstate highways rattled his brain, for he'd never witnessed so much stimulation on a piece of paper before—not even in Guppy's coloring books.

"Well?" Sam snapped, and Gibby realized he'd been staring and not speaking for too long. He stuttered a bit, and then held the map out for clearer inspection.

"Uh…" he said, studying the roads. He couldn't tell which was the one they were on, if any were, but he picked one at random, because it looked like there were a lot of trees nearby. "Go forward until…um, you go left." He turned to look at her; she had a you-must-be-the-stupidest-kid-ever look on her face, which was never good.

"Er," He straightened, trying to look powerful. "Go forward for"—he estimated—"five miles, and then make a left."

"_Thank_ you." With that Sam put pedal to the metal, and they drove off. Gibby only hoped they were going the right way.

* * *

Like he knew he would've, Freddie felt awful at having laughed at Gibby and Sam earlier. He sat up on the RV, knees up to his chest, and brain riddled with the blonde's face, mad as a hornet. He knew Sam had laid her heart on her sleeve in that quick minute, pleading with him to accompany her. Why didn't he just go? They would've surely been back by the time it was pitch-black, and yet his cautious nature took no risks, and now Gibby was probably beaten senseless at the demon's hands.

However, Freddie couldn't undo what was done, so he went to his new lair atop the recreational vehicle. Surrounding him were tools to catch the beavecoon (or whatever it was) and protect him from nature's own brutalities, and then several things just to busy himself with: there was a flashlight, extra batteries for abovementioned flashlight, his sleeping bag, his PearPod, his laptop, a video camera (now fully charged), a dart gun in the case of attack, and three thick novels of the sci-fi and fantasy genres he was itching to read. With Spencer and Griffin still below him in the RV, he decided to wait.

In case of detection, Freddie kept himself straight and unmoving like a board, lying on his stomach. He suspected Spencer would leave to search for Carly, and Griffin would be forced to bed rest for the rest of the night. Soon, Spencer indeed came outside, his bulky camouflage vest bouncing with his body. He turned to the RV, and Freddie sucked in a breath; nevertheless, Spencer spotted him. The man's eyes stayed on him awhile, head tilted, until he grinned goofily, waved, and trotted off. Thankful for Spencer's ignorance (or incongruity, whichever), Freddie sat back up and resumed his previous stance.

As expected, the darkness of night arrived quickly. It was so dark he had to leave the flashlight on consistently, it's beam shining up to the sky. At the start he was vigilant, eyes scrutinizing every area and ears listening for every sound. He was prepared to catch anything suspicious, and to prove to himself what he'd seen. However, as time ticked past, and nothing of interest came into sight, he used his varied sources of entertainment to engage his brain; he used the flashlight to read many chapters of the trio of books, staying intent upon the vampire one that he assured himself bore no resemblance to the more popular saga of this genre. When he grew irritated with using only a speckle of light to read, he played some songs he enjoyed, ranging from pop to rock, rap to show tunes, some original and some covered by that dramatic comedy show, all the while gazing at the stars above. After that he attempted surfing the Internet, checking his e-mail, and looking up SplashFace videos, only to find he had no Wi-Fi connection. At this, still so intoxicated with boredom, he even lowered himself to count how many leaves were in the trees before him. And so he switched fervently between books, technology, and counting, growing more unaware of his original purpose to be on top of the RV and the enviroment surrounding him.

* * *

Carly had never experienced such discomfort as when she slept on crunchy leaves and lopsided terrain in the harsh winds. She awoke with a start, eyes open wide in fear, and instantly was punished with a rush of cold breezes, and her neck ached from sleeping on it at a weird angle one can only get into when unconscious. Holding her neck with her hand as to soothe it, she rose to a sitting position, her head pounding with imagery of the nightmare that startled her awake.

Like the previous night, this one began with Gibby up in a tree. This time, however, he was dressed head to toe in glittering armor; the gray metal shimmered in the bright sunlight, and his usual flabby exterior glowed with muscle that somewhat upset Carly (she was thankful he didn't look like that daily, or else competition may arise). He smiled down at her, and she noticed for the first time she was cloaked in a luxurious ball gown of pink and blue and white that helped outline her figure. It reminded her of a picture book she once owned—that now was withered and unreadable—where the beauteous princess rode off with her knight in shining armor.

In this old book for children of single-digit ages, there was one character not invented for it: a boy, decked out in shiny clothing, upon a worthy steed. But this shiny clothing was not a suit of armor—it was a suit of leather, black and intimidating. And his "steed" was not the typical kind of Cinderella, oh no. This one grumbled with ravenous hunger from a bulky engine and it spewed fire from the back end. Forming it was black metal and sparkly gray handlebars, where the knight in shining leather was perched, smirking deviously.

"Hey," said he, "wanna a ride?" He patted the spot behind him, and Carly was tempted. But she had not forgotten her other suitor, and he made sure she wouldn't. Hopping down in a single bound, Gibby moved to her and held out a metal hand. She placed hers in his, and he kissed it fondly.

"Hello, fair maiden." he said, his voice still as high as ever, regardless of his new well-toned body. "I am Sir Gibson, and I would like to ask for your hand in marriage." Carly was enraptured by this proposal, and could only blush as a reply. However, her leather-clad suitor refused to be stood up; he got off his motorcycle and pushed Gibby out of the way.

"My name's Griffin." he said, "Why don't you ditch this bozo and you n' I can go out, get some smoothies…" Although Carly enjoyed Gibby's romantic greeting, she was engrossed by Griffin's offer and strut. It was tempting to take Gibby's hand, but also to plop herself behind Griffin on his motorcycle.

"Hey!" shouted Gibby, staring angrily at this threat, "You cannot just come in here and push me away! Carly is my maiden, and I'd kindly ask you to leave!"

"Why don't you shut up?" Griffin countered just as maliciously, "Besides, who says 'maiden'? She's a _babe_, Fairytale Boy." Carly watched as they argued, and gasped as the argument of words turned to one of fists, and soon they both were bruised and bloody. She tried to scream but found her voice unable to work. She ran to them, but an invisible wall separated them, and she was forced to watch the battle. Gibby pulled a sword from his holster and Griffin a knife from his pocket. As they began a swordfight, and grew bloodier, Carly cried. Soon they were so battered their bodies unraveled like ribbons, and their leather and armor stayed behind, glowing in the light.

At last Carly found her voice, and she screeched as tears ran down her pale cheeks, heartbroken at the loss of them both. When she came back to reality the teardrops were sweat droplets, and she wiped them off as the wind made them grow cold.

It was far worse than her dream of Gibby falling from the tree. She didn't want to see them leave her, but she didn't want them to fight so much that they could kill each other. She never imagined she'd be stuck in a love triangle like this; she figured if ever she was in one, it'd include a boyfriend she was fond of and Freddie sitting back, drowning in unrequited love. But the one she was in now had boys she had feelings for mutually, and it made her wish she'd never gotten boy-crazy.

She looked up into the sky: the full moon bore down on her, surrounded by wispy gray clouds. A shiver went up her back. It was frightening to be out here alone, in the night, with no protection. Again she scolded herself for running like a scared rabbit.

Just as she was wishing she had someone beside her, a rustle in the bushes alerted her. She was afraid, for who knew what it was? She shielded her face, praying it was vegetarian, when she heard a voice that soothed her as equally as it terrified her.

"Miss me?" He came out into sight as if in slow-motion; his injuries seemed to have increased tenfold, his lip swelled and arm scarred. She held her breath as a smirk came to his lips and he swaggered up to her. Carly was reminded of her terrible dream as she spotted the leather jacket on his shoulder, but told herself not to cry.

He chuckled, and it sounded loud and evil with her current circumstance. "Come on, not even a li'l bit?" She kept staring, emotionless and unresponsive. His smirk faltered; he kicked a stray rock, and leaned on the tree. She looked away now, rubbing her arms to drive away the cold. He apparently noticed, for his jacket dropped onto her shoulders. She didn't want to accept it—as though accepting would be a sign she chose him—but the warmth was welcomed by her body, and so she kept it. He squatted beside her, but she showed no signal of acknowledgment.

"You mad?" Griffin asked. She wasn't mad—she was upset, scared, puzzled, lovesick, heartbroken, worried…but not mad. However, all those emotions bubbling inside her made her wish she was only mad—she worked better when angry.

"No…" she whispered feebly, eyes on the ground, "I'm not mad. I'm just…I don't know." He nodded. Casually, he placed his arm over her shoulders, but she had no reaction besides a quiver of her body.

"It's okay if you don't know." he said, "I just wanna let you know that I'm here for you." Despite the situation, Carly grinned a little. Griffin must've taken this as a good sign for he moved nearer to her, arm tightening its hold.

"Why don't you come back to the camp?" he offered, "I'll walk you."

"Thanks," Carly said, "Still, I don't think you're in any condition to walk—we really need to get you to a hospital." Griffin waved away this comment with his hand.

"Ah, I don't need a doctor to help me." he said, and he patted his chest. "I'm tough, babe." Carly shuddered—_babe_. Dream-Griffin used that word too, and he became lost in the sands of her mind. The tiny grin fell from her mouth and she looked away. Griffin saw it, and his smirk too fell. He loosened his grip on Carly, a somewhat bad feeling.

Soon Griffin went forth to talking; he explained how Gibby and Sam left to help Ayala, and how Sam was very angry with Freddie. It perplexed Carly how Freddie "had something to do" but no one knew what. When she questioned on her brother, Griffin became silent.

"I s'pose he's back with Freddo." he said, "Probably helping with whatever he's doing." The explanation made Carly suspicious but she didn't say anything further on the subject.

"Anyways, we should go back to camp." she said, rising. Griffin copied her movement, his arm keeping strong its hold. However, as Carly tried to walk off, Griffin stood in the way. She stared up at him, into his dark eyes, and a tingle of exhilaration went through her body. Griffin leaned down towards her; the scene surrounding them morphed into a blotchy blur of brown, black, and green. Carly's brain couldn't decide on a reaction, so she didn't react at all as Griffin's head lowered to meet with hers.

* * *

The car seemed to jump three inches as it was struck by Sam's frayed sneaker. Gibby was pressed against the window in fear as Sam stood outside on the other end, kicking with manic hatred at the tire as though the assault would give them directions. But no such luck would come upon them.

Luckily for Ayala, the error in going home occurred after the trip to the supermarket. Sam had, at full speed, driven the route Gibby gave her. Surprisingly, these directions actually paved the way to a market. Gibby ran inside at Sam's command, purchased two cartons of fresh milk (along with some Slim Jims and a delectable Crunch bar Sam stole as "punishment" for his "stupidity"), and hurriedly went back into the car. When Sam ordered for directions back to the campsite, Gibby gave her the best ones he could, not realizing the map was being held upside-down—or that it was really a map of Memphis roads, not Seattle ones.

Sam bit heatedly on a slice of jerky and kicked the car again. Ayala whimpered and Gibby stroked her comfortingly, though he himself was in need of comfort. Soon, after what seemed like hours, Sam stopped assailment on the car, if only because rain started to pour heavily. She got inside the car, tossed her jerky aside, and grumbled to herself in the front seat. Gibby knew better than to speak, or breath, when Sam was in this mood, but Ayala refused to stand back, and wobbled over to the girl. Upon spotting her, Sam's anger dispersed a tad, and she rubbed the fawn affectionately behind her ears.

Soon enough Sam settled down and went into a fuming silence. The sound of her fast breathing and the rain as it assaulted the car window wasn't comforting to Gibby's fragility, but he supposed it was a good alternative to being physically and verbally attacked by Sam when Freddie was the one who made her upset. He swore to himself it wasn't the first time. He recalled accounts when he heard her muttering "Freddie" angrily as she tied him to the flagpole in his underwear…of her complaining about "that Freddork" at her locker after she dunked him in a toilet for a swirly…of her writing in a brown, gold-embroidered diary ("Journal, Birdbrain, _jour-nal_!" she had clarified loudly) after giving the pudgy boy a wedgie. He always knew of the hatred that was betwixt them…but had some sort of bond spawned from this dislike? Could the reason Sam used him as a stress ball when dealing with Freddie was because of a deep feeling inside her that she herself couldn't understand? Gibby thought of Carly; he thought of her smile, her laugh, her tears, her eyes, her hair, her full lips…these several things made his stomach swish and his heart twist into a blood-pumping pretzel. He loved her. It made him laugh, how he loved her without a real connection that comes from years of a boyfriend/girlfriend relationship. But for Gibby, he just _knew_. If only Sam "just knew"…because he was positive her anger at Freddie was truly anger at her own heart.

Gibby could be deep when he wanted to be.

He looked over to the girl; she was feeding Ayala with one of the bottles she had tucked into her jacket before confronting Freddie. Ayala was grateful for the taste, as shown by her happy chewing on the baby bottle nipple. White liquid ran down her fuzzy lips, and Sam stifled an unwanted giggle at the cuteness of it all.

_"I suppose she's our 'daughter' now."_ Freddie had said. Sam, being her usual self, had scoffed and rolled her eyes as she scratched Ayala on the head.

_"Like I'd have a kid with _you_,"_ she had responded, voice dripping with venom, _"Heck, like I'd even _marry_ you."_ Freddie had smirked and shook his head.

_"The future's open wide."_ he had whispered.

Why did that nub have to get all philosophical? He wasn't in love with her, and she knew that. She knew that, even if she _did_ feel something, which she was sure she didn't, they wouldn't get married nor would they have a human child. They'd had a hateful friendship ever since they kissed, and Sam did like having that over constant fights, but as if there'd ever be something more to it. However, she was…a little upset at the prospect of him dating Carly. She wanted him to be safe, because she knew Carly could get _way_ ahead of herself sometimes—it wasn't that Carly wanted to hurt him, she just could not help it. But Sam knew, even if Carly didn't, that it wasn't love. And she didn't want that dork tricked into believing that, and then getting his heart as broken as his bones.

Thinking about Freddie only made her angrier, and as she got angrier she got sadder, and she didn't want to get sad so she made herself talk to Gibby, though his pea-sized brain could hardly help him to make intellectual conversation. Ayala bayed as Sam took away the baby bottle from her lips, even though it was empty and therefore wouldn't be of any use.

"Hey, Gib." Sam said as she tossed away the bottle, and he looked over at her, fright dancing in his eyes. "What's up?" Gibby's brow knotted in confusion at the harmless query, but didn't question where Sam's fury had scampered off to.

"I'm kinda worried about Carly." he said. _Yeah, right,_ he thought, _"Kinda"! What a laugh!_ Sam's face fell; she nodded, and looked at the distorted vista her wet window made.

"Yeah, me too." she said, "Why'd she have to go run off like that anyways? I mean, Carly's not dumb—why'd she act so…dumb?" Sam cursed herself for lack of better words but Gibby took no heed of the less than diplomatic speech she used.

"I hope she's alright," he mumbled, "I never meant…I didn't know I'd hurt her." Sam's ears perked at the change in his sentence. Being the sly demon that she was, she worked her way around this subtle hint at his emotions and continued the conversation, hopefully to her advantage.

"What was the fight about?" she asked, as innocently as a Puckett could muster. Perspiration began to swell on his Gibby's face; drops ran down his forehead as he picked his gray matter hastily for a reply that wouldn't give away the truth—Freddie pretty much knew, but Sam couldn't.

"I told you, he insulted me!" he said, but Sam snubbed this untruth. She fiddled with the bracelet on her wrist, rubbing the ruby bead with her thumb and forefinger, but her mind was sharp and focused.

"What'd he say?" she asked, "You know, to make you mad?" Gibby reddened; he appeared ashamed, or at least upset, as he concentrated on his tennis shoes. Gibby resolved to give up any hopes of keeping his crush secret from Sam, and told her the truth about the fight.

"He said I had no chance." he mumbled. Sam was surprised to have squeezed out an answer so quick without force, and also uncomfortable to hear Gibby saying what seemed to be a love dilemma.

"Oh…" she said, voice trailing off. Gibby suddenly stopped being shy and launched into a meticulous account of the fight.

"I said 'Hey, you better watch that mouth! You may be fit and handsome and cool, but I've got heart!' He laughed, and said heart doesn't matter when you've got guns. Then he pointed to his muscles…said 'Good luck, bud, you ain't getting these'." That was when Gibby's voice faded, and he spoke no more without a "helpful" prodding from Sam.

"And…that's when…?" Gibby sighed.

"I shoved him, hard, and he went 'Hey!' and shoved me back, harder, in my opinion. So I shoved him and he shoved me, each time getting rougher until we used our fists and feet and"—he gestured to his swollen eyeball—"it got nasty." Sam bobbed her head in understanding. The way Gibby put it now, it made sense. Yeah, Griffin was hot to the point of needing a fire extinguisher—but his ego was large to the point of wanting to punch his lights out. He would dish it out surely in Gibby's presence, for Gibby didn't look as though he would defend himself—Griffin learned the hard way that was not the case. It made Sam smirk devilishly to think rotund Gibby gave that bad boy what was coming to him.

But what did "a chance" mean?

She didn't find out for Gibby expressed he was "tired and didn't want to talk anymore", which Sam took as code for "this is painful to talk about". She'd learned at an early age boys weren't willing to open up about their feelings—neither was she. So she had mercy on him and let him sleep, though she would be surprised if he could with having to sit in that dirty, stiff car seat. Ayala, eyes bright and open, was what kept Sam awake that night. While Gibby slept, she made a call to the station requesting help, to which they said they'd try to give. Without much left to do, she turned the radio on at a soft volume, and watched the rain as Bono crooned quietly.

**This, in my opinion, is my second weakest chapter, the first being what I believe is Chapter Four, where the entire chapter focuses on Freddie and Sam waking up to find they'd snuggled each other. Cute moment, yes, and fun to write, but it really had no actual importance to the story, and that upsets me. I don't want a repeat of that. I do think this has important factors but it is more of a filler, and had no real "action". That's important to me, and is an excuse for why I don't update I lot on my other stories (by the way, apologies to readers of _Sammy Get Your Gun_ and _Learning To Dance, Learning To Love_). Oh, and November's NaNoWriMo! National Novel Writing Month, peeps! Contribute!**


	13. Attacks

**I'm not sure how good this is; feels a tad sloppy, but I think it might be okay. Also, there is a reference in Spencer's section to something. If you can tell me what it is you get a virtual Christmas tree! Merry Christmas, _iCarly_ diehards!**

Freddie hadn't realized he'd fallen asleep until he tasted an intolerable flavor of morning breath on his tongue and teeth. As he reoriented himself, he found he had sprawled out flat, his limbs stretching into oblivion at his sides. He rubbed the crispy residue from his eyes and moved to his supplies. His drowsiness diminished swiftly when he noticed not all were there. One of his books had somehow disappeared. He scoured the RV roof for them, and then figured he must've knocked them over in slumber, so he looked out over the campsite. He gaped at what he saw.

The entire site was in ruins: the sleeping bags that had been left out were torn badly, and a trail of food followed out of the vehicle, consisting of various items from potato chip crumbs to slices of half-eaten lunchmeat. Freddie leapt from the top in a single bound and walked among the wreckage that had been caused while he dozed. As he walked, his foot hit something that crumpled. Instantly he moaned. _Not my book_, he begged, but alas it was that very thing. The cover had been shredded so the character on it couldn't be deciphered if Freddie hadn't known ahead of time; pages were ripped and some half-torn, which felt more painful in Freddie's bookworm heart; worst of all, a sustenance that resembled saliva dripped from the mangled corners.

Even though this was his least favorite book of the three, he found himself horrorstruck, as though someone tore away a chunk of his life. He fell to his knees, his fingertips grazing the slobbery book cover, and continued to let his jaw wiggle back and forth like a pendulum. This act was not committed by any old felon—Freddie knew this wasn't even the work of a human being. Something snuck into the camp while Freddie rested, and it made its presence known.

What could it have been? This damage was done by a much more dangerous creature than a deer, or a beaver, or a raccoon…

Maybe a beavecoon.

As soon as a twisted image of this animal invaded Freddie's mind, he found himself rooted to the spot. Suddenly, time ceased to exist as he stood still in the midst of the debris, like a soldier on an empty battlefield. It could've been his imagination, the next thing, but he knew it wasn't. The sound of leaves scraping against each other, of soft, throaty growling, of…claws…dragged along the grass.

He didn't turn; he didn't fight; instead, he ran into the RV, shutting himself away. Freddie made sure to lock the door, but he still pressed his body against it to prevent the dastardly freak of nature from taking his life away. His knuckles grew white as he held tightly to the edge of the door, and he began to hyperventilate and shake, slinking to his knees.

Freddie spotted his cell phone on the counter; he had to call for help, or this _thing_ could kill him silently. Though he feared for his safety, he left the door and nabbed the phone. The first number that popped into his head was surprising but he couldn't waste time remembering another—at the promptest pace he could, he dialed.

* * *

Carly recalled all the moments she'd kissed him; his lips always tasted salty and most definitely hospitable. He'd wrap his strong, tanned arms around her thin waist as he deepened the kiss, relishing every flavor his mouth produced into hers. His kisses were genuine, all flavorful, and all lovely.

But these were kisses of the past; now was the present. It tempted her, as she remembered all those past moments with him—she could have that again, right now. She couldn't though, and so she pressed her hands against his chest, and swiftly pushed him off.

To deny he was shocked and offended would be an outright lie; his face contorted into one of utter astonishment at being rejected. Carly bit her lip fretfully, feeling overcome with nausea at his expression. She even went to hold her stomach to prevent unwanted substances from bursting out, but Griffin spoke so she paid attention to him, and not her back-flipping belly.

"What?" he said, "Why won't you kiss me?" His confusion shone clearly in his dark eyes, and his stance of hands outstretched.

"I-I'm sorry, Grif…" she said, using his nickname only because she couldn't bring herself to say the full. "I like you a _lot_, but…but it doesn't feel right. You're spectacular, but there's—" Griffin's bewildered expression morphed into one of wholesome odium for what she'd say next.

"There's _Gibby_?" he spat, elongating the syllables of the boy's name to make it more repugnant, "That little, fat weirdo?"

"Don't call him…!" Carly started, but her voice faded as Griffin continued to fume.

"Why do you still want him?" he demanded, throwing up his arms, "He's not attractive, and he's not cool! Why want him when I'm here?"

"You don't get—"

"Oh, I get it. You choose him."

"No, it's not like that!"

"You chose him, even though _I'm_ the one who came out here to find you, while he's off with another girl!" Carly went to speak again when she suddenly processed his words. It was true: Griffin had escaped from the bedroom to find her and bring her back, while Gibby decided to help Sam. It was hardly believable, and yet made so much sense she couldn't knock it away.

"B-But…" she stuttered, "But it's Sam." Griffin scoffed.

"Like it matters—he's still not here. He would rather drive off with Sam in the middle of the night to do who knows what than risk getting even sicker by leaving to find you…like I did." By now the anger in his features melted to concern, though in his heart it was faked. This could be the clincher of their relationship; Gibby had no romantic feelings towards Sam, or any other girl, as Griffin was conscious of, but just mentioning it to Carly could change her ways. Even though he was defying Spencer as the man went to find her, he still knew the fact he was there and Gibby wasn't would register in her brain as a point towards himself. And he needed every point in this war for her heart, and, more importantly, her lips.

When she didn't move, Griffin did, holding out his hand. He wrapped his fingers around hers in a gentle show of care. "I like you very much, Carly. I just want you to see that."

"I-I do, Griffin…" she stammered, vision shaking as tears began to form—tears at Gibby's insensitivity, and at Griffin's pressuring.

"Then will you kiss me?"

* * *

Gibby could feel in the pit of his stomach a sense not all was well. Even as he pretended to sleep next to Sam as she stroked Ayala and listened to soft rock, he knew there was something bad going on elsewhere. He couldn't rightly tell, but it was an intuition that left him uneasy.

The meek cloudburst had ceased, but evidence of its visit was strewn across the car and forest with droplets of rainwater. The two still refused to leave the warmth and refuge of the truck, causing an anxious Ayala, who longed for the freedom of the wilderness. As Gibby pretended to sleep, he peeked at Sam with slits as eyes; she looked contented, but it was a forced contentment. He reckoned she was still mad at Freddie, but knew better than to say anything that implied that.

A quiet ring interrupting the melody caused Gibby to flinch and open his eyes, immediately stating his lies. However, Sam took no note of this as she seized her cell from her pocket. Gibby gazed at her as she listened; there was a high-pitched squeal coming from the other end, and Sam looked revolted with it at first, until the message sunk in.

"Oh my God!" she suddenly exclaimed, "Are you _crazy_? It's really there? There's really…something…?" Gibby craned his neck to move closer, trying to catch what was being said. All he heard was the squeal, and Sam's responses that didn't give much information anyhow.

"Well, we'll…try…no, we will. Shut up! You want help or not?" A buzz on the other end. "Okay, we're coming…yeah, just…please, just stay put. I…I need to know you'll keep yourself safe." Gibby gripped the edge of his foam seat—Carly was Sam's best friend. What if this was her calling, and she was in grave danger?

Sam hung up the phone finally and turned to him with worry in her eyes. "That's Freddie," she said, and Gibby was stunned as he recalled the past conversation. "He says something's at the camp, and it could…hurt him." Gibby knew this had to be the premonition he was feeling, though he sensed it wasn't the only horrible thing occurring.

"But we don't know how to get back." Gibby said.

"I called the ranger station a few hours ago and told them our whereabouts, so hopefully they'll get here soon. I'm gonna call back just in case." Sam's words were rushed and harried as she whipped her phone open and dialed. Gibby sensed panic rising within her at the thought of Freddie in danger. He was scared for him too, but Sam was taking tremendous action; she called the station three or four times more, her anger growing with each call. On around the last time she started to get ugly, using profanity to get her point across. Still no lights came before them.

Sam punched the buttons on her phone with much anger. "I swear to God, if they don't come…" Gibby bravely took the phone from her hands and snapped it shut—he was worried what would come out of her mouth next if she were to contact the station yet again.

"Look, they'll come soon." he said, "I'll call and tell 'em about Freddie, so he'll be safe if we don't get there first. Okay?" Sam just stared at him, eyes wide as a doe's, but eventually nodded, a big surprise. Instead of attacking Gibby for taking her phone, she simply accepted his judgment and petted Ayala more. Gibby didn't linger on it, though he was quite puzzled. He called the station and told them about their worries (and apologized for Sam's insufferable behavior). They said they'd send a ranger to the campsite as well, and then each hung up.

Sam was silent. Gibby stared at her face, curtained by her ringlets. "Sam?" She rose her head, and he saw her cheeks had grown red, as well as her eyes. Tears were on the verge of bursting through her sockets. Her lower lip trembled, something that normally happened only when she was angered.

"What's gonna happen?" she whispered, "He…he sounded so upset over the phone…w-what if…if it _gets_ him? Whatever it is? Oh, Gibby…that can't happen…!"

"And it won't." He wrapped a comforting arm around her shoulders. She rested her tear-soaked cheek against him, and tried fruitlessly to keep the onslaught of teardrops from growing worse. "A ranger's heading over there right now, and Freddie's barricaded the door, right? Nothing will get in that isn't safe. Come on, he'll be fine."

"I can't let anything happen to him…" Sam mumbled, "I love him…h-he's my best friend, just like Carly! I love them both…"

"And me?" Gibby inquired, taking a stab at comedy.

"Oh, Gib, I can't stand you." A piteous laugh gurgled in Sam's throat, and Gibby was happy her mind was straying from Freddie. Despite their strong dislike of one another, Sam's breakdown proved Freddie and she were true friends, and that they cared and loved each other. However, the second part of her blubbering seemed to have been quickly condensed, as if to cover something up. Obviously she wouldn't have wanted Gibby to receive the wrong message and believe her love wasn't platonic.

Gibby patted her on the back before withdrawing his arm. "Understandably, I'm no Freddie. But I'm here, and he's safe." Sam nodded, but she didn't look satisfied.

* * *

Spencer was lost.

And not regular lost, either—more like totally out-of-his-element, on-the-streets, no-assistance-nearby lost. Which was the worst kind of lost.

None of the trees, bushes, or flowers looked familiar to him. The eerie sound of faraway chirps and croaks unsettled him, as he was accustomed to hearing distant voices of human beings. That way, he knew help was somewhat close, but now the sole human was himself. He was pretty certain Carly wasn't nearby, and the roads Gibby and Sam were on were too far-flung for them to possibly hear his shouts of their names.

He wished he had let Griffin follow him, for even the weakest human companionship would've been better than journeying over leaves on his own. He tried to scream for help again, but still no answer came in.

Defeated, Spencer collapsed onto a log. His stomach was growling at him angrily, but he had brought no food to sustain him—he thought he'd be in and out fast but how wrong he was, and now he had to listen to his belly nag at him. It made him wonder if Carly felt the same, hungry and dejected and lost, and he was left sick.

"Ah, shnit…" he groaned, grabbing his tummy, "This sucks…like, hardcore sucking. Oh, now I'm talking to myself again! My therapist told me not to do it…ugh, and now I'm thinking about Dr. Dowell and his weird mole! Oh…and now his mole's turning into a chocolate cupcake…mmm, cupcake…" Spencer began licking his lips, mouth watering for the mole/cupcake on his therapist's face. If insanity hadn't struck him before, the imagery of eating chocolate that grew on Dr. Dowell's chin was a sure sign it had then.

But Spencer knew thinking of food would make him hungrier, and being hungry would make him glummer and he couldn't have that, so he lifted himself off his rock and strode forward. As he continued his search, a cool mist washed over his face. He knew it wasn't humidity, because it felt refreshing like water. He closed his eyes, letting the mist wash over his eyelids; he sighed blissfully, glad to at least have some succor in this wilderness he was lost in. However, this comforting feeling of the mist left him after a bump in his path. He opened his eyes and fell, squealing, into a huge puddle. It wasn't even a fresh-feeling puddle of water—it was murky and green, with little unrecognizable creatures floating about. Spencer popped his head back to the surface, coughing and spluttering as he thrashed about.

"Help!" he screamed, "Help, I'm drowning!" He kept yelling and flaying, stuck in this swamp that was sure to eat him from his feet to his neck. _Oh, what a cruel world!_ he thought, _Swallowed by the seas, my goodness! I never got to tell Carly I loved her, or that Freddie was my brother from another mother, or that Sam needed to return my hot-glue gun before I went crazy! But now all of that is impossible…sweet death, take me away! Take me—_

"Man, it's five feet deep!" shouted a voice from above. Spencer squinted against the swamp water that clouded his vision to see a woman peering down at him, hands on her hips. When he understood her words, he stood up to indeed find the water only reached his waist. He restrained a blush, embarrassed at this fact, but kept a cool head in the presence of this woman: she was breathtakingly gorgeous, with blonde hair flowing and brown eyes glistening. Even under the heavy camping clothing of flannel, jeans, and a vest, Spencer could seek out her striking figure. Who knew he would be able to find such a super-mega-foxy-awesome-hot supermodel in the middle of nowhere?

"Erm, whoops." he said, smiling.

"Yuck." she said, gesturing to the seaweed adorning his shoulders. He tried to casually shrug it off, to no avail. "Come on, let's get you inside n' dry you off." _Inside?_ thought Spencer, as the girl turned both of them around. He gasped as he saw the huge lake house perched over the swamp. Kerosene lamps dangled from the porch, and it looked old but with some kind of class. It was built of complete wood, and sat on long pillars that stretched to the land and the bottom of the lake but it didn't look wobbly at all.

First a hot girl, then an awesome lake house? Maybe getting lost would be the best thing that happened to Spencer yet.


End file.
